Feel
by SgtMac
Summary: A broken and exhausted Regina has a deeply sensual and somewhat disturbing dream of/with Emma that may provide a way home for Emma and Snow, and emotional salvation for the former Evil Queen. S2, post 2X05. SQ, semi-graphic.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: First semi-graphic SwanQueen. Probably 4-5 chapters. Hope you enjoy. Much thanks.**

* * *

The former mayor is exhausted. Every bone, every muscle, every part of her. The hours she has spent reading and researching, desperately trying to find any way to bring Snow and Emma home, have been long and tiresome. Sleep has come rarely to her, and she supposes there's some grace in that. Especially after what had occurred in the stables.

Regina tries not to think of that now because doing so can only lead to feelings she's not yet ready to deal with. It's more than love – she will always love Daniel deep within her, deep in a place that contains only hurt and pain. It's about her genesis, though, too. With Daniel finally really gone (and by her hand this time), she's left with nothing but the emptiness and loneliness of her vengeance.

She's left with nothing.

It's been almost five days since the incident in the stables. Five days since she's spoken to anyone. Five days since she's seen Henry.

She thinks every day about calling him, but chooses not to. There's only one thing he wants from her, she imagines.

Emma.

He wants his mother back.

She swallows the pang of hurt that cuts through her, and instead focuses on the slightly bewildering realization (buried deep beneath the jealousy and pain) that she, too, wants the blonde sheriff back.

She tells herself that she wants Emma back so that maybe Henry will forgive her, and yes, it's that, but it's more. She tells herself that she misses having the company of a worthy adversary, even one that makes her blood boil. Until Emma had rolled into town, she'd been bored and listless, as caught and trapped in the mundane nature of sameness as everyone else. Emma had lit a spark.

A spark that had infuriated - and exhilarated - her.

Still, she knows herself well to know it strange that she'd allowed Emma to exist for so long before truly attacking. Sure, she'd manipulated and twisted and turned to try to get the blonde to leave turn, but she'd never really gone all in.

Not until the apple turnover incident.

And yeah, that'd turned out oh so beautifully.

So why then is she fighting so hard to bring Emma home? This pain in the ass who owns her son's heart without even trying? Why does she care if the sheriff lives or dies? It's Henry, but again, so very much more. The answers are fleeting, and they slip from her grasp even as the exhaustion and depression of another fruitless night of research weight heavily upon her body and soul.

Reluctantly, fearing sleep and the nightmares that come with it as much as she does the angry townsfolk who'd still like to see her dead, she makes her way up the stairs. She stops briefly at Henry's door, looks in and stares at his empty bed for awhile. She's not getting used to his absence. Not even a little.

She doesn't think she ever will.

She shuts the door and heads into her bedroom, taking one quick glance at the mirror over her dresser. It's large and clear. Almost like a window. Once upon a time, back in the other world, it'd been exactly that – a way to look at everything beyond her normal sight. Now, even with magic back, it's cold and still.

And all it shows her right now is the tired face of a broken and lonely former queen. Not so evil any more. Not so much anything.

"Damn you," she growls, staring right at her own reflection. She's not cursing herself, though. She's cursing the woman who'd come to town and turned everything upside down. The woman who'd ruined everything.

She's cursing Emma.

And wondering why the hell she wants her back.

* * *

The first thing she realizes with a spark of mild annoyance is that her eyes are closed. No, that's not right. She's lying on her bed, on her back, her arms stretched out wide. She should be seeing what's happening around her (because her dark eyes are very open) but there's something soft tied around her face.

Soft and velvet. Ah, a blindfold.

Wait, what?

Regina tries to pull in a hand so as to move the blindfold away, but before she can manage to move even an inch, a palm settles gently over her wrist, lightly squeezing, but firmly holding her in place.

"Stay," she hears.

She blinks because dammit, she knows that voice.

"Miss….Miss Swan?" Her tone is surprised but indignant.

"Emma," the woman atop (yes, Regina realizes with a sharp start and an instant thudding of her heart, Emma Swan is actually straddling her waist) her whispers.

"What?"

"Considering our positions right now, Regina, I don't really see the value of titles and last names. Unless that's your kink."

"What?" Regina demands again. A voice in her head reminds her that this is a dream, and therefore not to be taken seriously, but a different voice is telling her that there is something very unusual about whatever is happening here.

Unusual and important.

"You about to tell me that you're not into kink, Your Majesty."

"I'm about to tell you to get the hell off me," Regina growls, bucking her hips a bit. It's a badly thought out move, and one that immediately backfires because all she ends up doing is grinding herself up and into Emma.

Which is way too much physical contact.

"I think you mean 'on'," Emma chuckles. And then, as if to prove her point, the blonde leans in and presses her mouth against the former mayor's pulse point.

"What are you…what are you doing?" Regina gasps out. And then, almost as an afterthought, she hisses out, a shaky "Miss Swan."

"I'm enjoying you," Emma answers, her voice rumbling against Regina's suddenly feverish and entirely too sensitive skin.

"No, no you're not. This is…this is quite inappropriate."

"Well, you would know."

"I beg your pardon." She's moderately amazed that she's still able to speak at all considering the way Emma is sucking on her pulse point. The contact is positively intoxicating, and it's driving her damn near to madness.

Well, if she wasn't already just a little bit mad in the head.

"Beg. I like that," Emma growls out. The sound is primal, and Regina finds that just the vibration of that is enough to send an electric charge through her.

Still, she manages out a weak, "You…no…bad…"

"Very," the blonde agrees.

And then quite abruptly, Emma's lips (slightly chapped, an odd detail to notice, the sensible and still somewhat in control part of Regina's mind muses) are on the former mayors' much softer fuller ones. Regina whimpers in protest, but even she hates the pathetic nature of the sound, the blatant insincerity of it.

She feels cracked and non-moisturized hands moving down her, and then, without permission requested nor given, she feels rough and unpracticed (but not unpleasant) fingers sliding under the hem of the light blue silk nightshirt that she's wearing. Determined digits tease their way up her warm bronzed skin, dancing their way towards her embarrassingly swollen breasts. She hasn't much time to consider this, though, because suddenly, there's a tongue pushing its way into her warm mouth.

Owning her, consuming her. Enjoying her.

And dammit if she doesn't like it.

Dammit if she doesn't like this woman – Emma Swan - touching her.

Oh, she does. She really does.

Which is a big problem. And one that makes no damned sense.

She cries out then as one of Emma's hands settles possessively over her right breast, lightly squeezing, kneading and pinching. A thumb drifts back and forth over her nipple, teasing it to a painful peak, and then abandoning it for just long enough to make her want to scream in frustration.

She cries out again when Emma's mouth is removed from hers and then dropped down to cover her left breast, wet lips and teeth grazing her other now quite hard nipple. Why, she wonders, does she feel everything so damned clearly in what is quite clearly (it must be, she reasons desperately, franticly) a dream.

Why?

The hand not on her breast slides down her hip, fingers again dancing out a spicy step as they descend. One finger slides beneath the waistband of her silk bottoms, sliding over Regina's hipbone. And then it continues it's voyage south.

"Emma," Regina stammers suddenly, the words choking hard in her throat as multiple sensations overwhelm her. She feels a flood of emotion surging through her, the desire to continue with this strong, but terrifying. She's close to losing control, and she can't let that happen. "Emma, no, you have to stop."

"I can't," the blonde says suddenly, sitting up (though her hands only move to Regina's waist as opposed to leaving her completely). Regina feels the absence of her touch, feels a sudden chill slide over her like a phantom.

"Why not?" Regina queries lamely, her voice little more than a hoarse gasp. She thinks she should be delighted that the strange sexual assault has abated, but she's not. And this troubles her terribly.

Actually, this whole damned dream troubles her, but that's for later. When she has possession of her waking senses again. For now, she focuses on finding out why Emma is claiming she can't stop when she clearly can. And has.

"I can't stop because I'm not here," the blonde answers, her voice gravelly, and suddenly exhausted sounding.

Regina blinks beneath the darkness of her blindfold. "What?"

She feels the hands move from her waist and then slide up to touch her face. A palm lightly – almost lovingly - grazes her jaw, and then makes it's way up to the blindfold. "Look," Emma says. "I need you to look."

She pulls the blindfold loose; flooding Regina's vision with moonlight and…well, flesh. Though she hardly means to – and is actually quick humiliated to - the brunette gasps as she takes in the lean muscular body atop her. Emma is clothed for the most part – wearing jeans and a tank – but she's still a sight to behold, a visual wonderland of sorts.

"Look," Emma says again,

"I…I am," Regina answers, her voice throaty and uneasy. "And you look like you're right here. With me. Miss Swan. Sitting on me."

"I'm not."

"Then I've clearly had too much to drink," Regina responds dryly. She's trying to return to herself, trying to use her wit to regain control of this bizarre situation.

"You have, and you are dreaming. But this is real. This is happening."

"Of course it is. It's every day that I have sex with the biological mother of my son who happens to be trapped in the world I came from."

"Dammit, Regina, stop fighting me for five seconds. Trust me. Trust us."

"There is no 'us' to trust, Miss Swan. And this is just the fevered and delirious dream of an exhausted woman. Nothing more."

"Fine. Think what you want, but humor me, okay?" She actually sounds irritated, annoyed that even here, even now, the brunette is fighting her.

"If I must," Regina answers. "If it means you'll get off of me."

Emma growls in frustration at that, then reaches out, grabs Regina's jaw and yanks it upwards, forcing her to alter her sightlines, forcing her to look over the blonde's shoulder. Towards the mirror. "Look," she demands.

And that's when Regina sees Emma and Snow, the two of them both sound asleep on the floor of the castle that the brunette had once called home. It's dark and worn, showing the signs of decades worth of decay and negligence, but Regina still recognizes it as her former domain.

"I'm there," Emma says. "But right now, I'm also here. And we need you. We need you to bring us home before time runs out."

"I…I don't understand."

"I don't completely understand, either. I don't know what's happening here. I don't know why this is happening. It makes no more sense to me than it does to you. What I do know is I need you to let go and use your emotions, Regina. Allow yourself to feel. Allow yourself to feel this." She leans in then and presses another kiss to the brunette's lips. Soft, but passionate.

And then she's gone.

* * *

Regina wakes up thirty seconds later.

The former mayor pushes herself up from her bed, her legs wobbly and unsteady. The passionate images from the dream keep assaulting her mind, but it's more than that. She can still see Emma above her, but she can also still feel the blonde's hands touching her.

She can still feel Emma's mouth on her.

The hell?

Sure, from a purely physical point of view, Emma is an attractive woman. In that obnoxiously macho won't shut up and go the hell away kind of way. And sure there's always been some kind of odd magnetism between them, but Regina has certainly never viewed it as a sexual kind of thing.

Because that…well that's just absurd.

They've always been enemies, adversaries. Not…lovers?

It makes no damned sense.

So why the dream then? And more importantly, had it been more than a dream?

She tries to separate her mind, tries to pull the images apart. She moves the unsettling sexual content aside (with more difficulty than seems right) and tries to study the mirror above her dresser instead.

Mirrors have been a part of her life for a very long time so there's a good chance that her past is simply informing her present, she tells herself. Perhaps her exhausted mind had simply merged her worlds together. And perhaps that's all that bizarre visual display had been.

Unfortunately, that doesn't explain why Emma had been kissing her. And why she'd enjoyed it so damned much.

And it doesn't explain why she'd felt so much.

She stops then, staring directly at the mirror. The last thing Emma had said had been about letting go and feeling something. Is that the key to this?

Is there actually a lock or is this just a silly chase her mind is putting on in order to battle the feelings of loss and helplessness that have overcome her?

She walks over to the mirror and studies it intensely. In the dream, she'd seen Snow and Emma slumbering on the floor of the castle she'd called home. It makes no sense for them to be there. If they are there, though, she knows that there's a massive silver mirror in that very room. One that she hadn't brought to Storybrooke with her. If they are there, then just maybe there's a way to open up a door, and bring them home.

And then maybe, once they're home and safe, perhaps then she can figure out why the hell Emma had chosen that particular rather steamy and invasive dream as her way of sending out her urgent plea for help.

Which means that maybe she can figure out why she'd actually felt something when Emma had been touching her.

Feel, she thinks to herself.

She places her hand against the mirror and closes her eyes.

Let go and feel.

She tries, she really tries. She tries to press everything inside of her - the rage and the hurt and the fear - out. For a moment, she thinks she senses a crackle of energy – magic even – winding its way through her, coming from the mirror.

And then she sees images flying at her. Hands, mouths and legs. All wrapped together, all tangled up in a heap of sweat and passion.

But that's not what makes her pull back. That's not what makes her almost violently break the connection. What does is one simple flashing image.

It's of them lying together in her bed, her wrapped up tight in Emma's impossibly strong arms, the blonde's chin resting lightly – almost carelessly - on her shoulder, her hands laced around the front of the brunette's belly.

It's not rage and hurt and fear. It's not even passion or sex.

It's comfort and serenity.

It's peace and forgiveness.

And love.

Regina steps quickly - almost abruptly - away from the mirror, tears in her eyes. She hopes that she's having a complete mental breakdown, prays that that's all this is.

Because if it isn't, if Emma is really trying to reach out to her, really trying to make an emotional connection, then both she and Snow are doomed.

Because what she just saw, what she just felt, well that's just too much to feel.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Many thanks for all of the kind comments. Much appreciated.**

* * *

Emma Swan falls away from the magnificent silver mirror mounted upon the stone wall in the royal bedchamber as though the glass has burnt her, nearly stumbling over her feet as she tumbles backwards. Her suddenly dark green eyes are wide and shocked, her open mouth forming a perfect "o" of surprise.

And her mind, well it's reeling with visuals that are as absurd as they are enticing, as ridiculous as they are arousing and as fantastic as they are exciting.

"What the hell was that?" Emma gasps out finally, turning around to stare at her mother, who is watching her with clear worry lighting her eyes.

"You tell me," Snow answers as she steps cautiously towards her blonde daughter. She takes in the small beads of sweat gathered on Emma's brow and observes her slightly breathless nature. It's puzzling and worrying. "One moment you were touching the mirror and the next you were…well, I don't know where you were, but I don't think it was here."

"It wasn't. I was…" she stops because where she was – and what she was doing and whom she was doing it with - makes absolutely no sense to her. "I…"

"Emma, what happened?" Snow asks softly. "Tell me. What did you see?" She clasps Emma's hands, holding them tightly within her own.

The blonde sighs, frustration mounting as she struggles to understand what she had just seen and experienced. Finally, she grits out, "I saw Regina."

"Regina?" Snow repeats with surprise. "As in Evil Queen Regina?"

Emma scowls at that, images of bare flesh on flesh surging through her confused mind. "As in Madame Mayor Regina," she corrects, suddenly oddly not comfortable with the cold cruel realities of the woman she'd just…interacted with on the other side of the mirror.

She shakes her head, then, dramatically trying to clear away the decidedly erotic images that are still as clear as a cloudless day in her mind. "I think we shared a dream or something like that." She punctuates the last sentence with a wave of her hand, trying to suggest that it'd been nothing important, but her voice falters just a bit and the effect is more suggestive than dismissive.

"A shared dream. I've…your father and I shared one of those once," Snow notes thoughtfully. A moment later, her frown returns, as if remembering how those kinds of visions are usually only shared between those with deeply intimate ties. She and Charming had certainly qualified, but Emma and Regina? No way.

"Emma, what happened in it?" she presses gently, not sure she wants to hear the answer. In fact, she's suddenly damned sure that she doesn't.

"We, uh…we talked," Emma answers, but as she says this, a slight red blush creeps its way up her neck, coming to rest on her cheeks, and she's suddenly quite certain that Snow sees it. She pulls away from her mother then, turning her back on the brunette, trying to make it look like she's inspecting the room – the bedchamber that Regina had previously resided in - that they're in.

"About what?" Snow asks again, her concern deepening. She knows instinctively that there's something about whatever had just occurred that Emma doesn't want to share with him, and that bothers her more than she cares to admit.

Emma alters her position, taking on one that's a bit more defensive, a bit more self-protective. "Helping us get the hell out of here before Cora finds us," she replies as she glances back at Snow. "And she will find us. We both know that."

It's a simple and to the point answer, and a technically accurate one at that. It's also missing the vast majority of the details of what had occurred between she and Regina, which is probably a good thing because Emma really doesn't understand it herself.

All she does know – and this is completely and utterly inexplicable to her – is that she had been the sexual aggressor in the shared vision. She'd been the one who had entered the dream and then for reasons she can't even begin to understand, had pinned Regina to the bed and kissed her like there was no tomorrow.

Before she'd uh…felt her up.

And then done so much more than that with her mouth.

She winces a bit at this memory, not because it's an unpleasant one (an odd realization indeed for her) but because it's vivid still in her mind.

"We do," Snow admits, pulling her from her thoughts and memories. "And you think Regina can help us. How?"

Emma blinks at the question. She turns back to face the mirror, and then, after a moment of thought (she thinks about having forced Regina to look through the identical mirror on the other side), says softly, "That."

"The mirror?"

"Yes. I don't know how, but…that's the lock. And Regina's the key."

"Okay, you're scaring me, Em," she tells her daughter.

"I think I'm scaring myself, but I know…I believe what I'm saying is true. That mirror is our way home, and Regina is the one who can make it work."

"How?"

"I don't know exactly, but I think…I think she has to – and I know how stupid this sounds – but she has to let herself feel."

"You know I don't understand, right?"

"I don't either, and I'm not sure I want to if I'm honest. What I do know is that when I was in the dream, I made her look through a mirror like this on her side and she saw us. Here in this room. We were sleeping, but it was definitely us, and it was definitely here. And I don't know how or why, but I know what I was telling her was the truth."

"And you told her she had to feel?"

"Yes."

"Feel what?"

Emma shakes her head at that, unwilling to say more.

"Did something happen between you two in your shared…dream?" Snow asks, head tilted slightly.

"No," Emma says immediately.

Snow smiles sadly at that. She touches Emma's arm again, the contact light and loving. "You know, for someone who is supposedly so good at knowing when people are lying, you're pretty awful at actually telling lies yourself."

"I'm sorry," Emma admits.

"But you still won't tell me."

"I can't. It makes no sense."

Snow thinks she should push, press until she gets an answer she can make sense of, but a voice inside of her tells her that maybe these are answers she doesn't want to hear. Maybe something had been shared between her daughter and her mortal enemy that will shake her all the way to her core.

Maybe there's an emotional connection between the two women that she just can't cope with it. Not now, maybe not ever.

So she retreats.

"You think Regina understood what you were trying to tell her?" she asks instead.

"I hope so."

"Me, too," Snow admits with a sigh. She glances out the window. Time is short for them. Cora is after them thanks to Emma having the compass (a piece of metal that is utterly useless to the two of them thanks to their lack of magic, but is clearly crucial to Regina's mother). Their companions – Mulan and Aurora – have already been lost in battle (Snow thinks that there's a chance they're still alive, but she has no guarantee of this, only sadness and loss), and thanks to Emma leaving Hook at the top of the beanstalk, chances are he'll be of no assistance.

Right now, he probably sees Cora as his best chance to move through worlds, which means he isn't likely to offer them a hand.

The real problem is, Cora seems to be at full power, and neither one of them has much more than a sword or a crossbow for defense. They're simply no match for a witch like her, and they both know it. Snow had led them to this castle, hoping that Cora would never expect them to come here, but she knows that eventually Regina's mother will figure their whereabouts out. And once she does…

Well Cora's entire focus and purpose is bent on finding her daughter and extracting revenge against her. Vengeance is a horrible weapon.

Snow knows this all too well.

Funny, then, that she's supposed to put her faith in Regina to find a way for them to get home. Funny that she's supposed to believe that some kind of connection between her daughter and the former queen might be the key to their safe return.

Even funnier when she stops to think about the women being connected. Neither is much for blind faith, both of them having been hurt too many times. It's hard to imagine Regina taking a leap of anything based on a simple vision.

Damn near impossible, actually.

"Mary – Snow?" Emma prompts.

"Sorry, I was just…look, would you agree that what happened in your shared dream was a bit…unusual?"

"Yeah," Emma hedges, her tone getting defensive, like she's wondering if Snow is about to ask for details again.

"Then what makes you think Regina hasn't convinced herself that it was just a dream," Snow presses. "Despite where we came from – where we are now – Regina's never been one for believing in anything or anyone. Just because you tell her in a dream that she has to feel doesn't mean she believes she has to."

"You're right," Emma says with a frown. She looks at the mirror again. "It's magical, right? The one on this side?"

"Yeah."

"Then maybe I should try again. See if I can't convince her this time."

"Or I can try."

Emma laughs at that. "Not a good idea."

Snow lifts a bemused eyebrow at that. "You think I'll share something like you did with her if I touch the mirror."

Emma responds without thinking, her face contorting as she says, "Eww."

That's all Snow needs to hear to confirm her suspicions. She remembers quite clearly the vision shared so many years ago with Charming. "Oh, Emma…"

"What? I didn't say anything!"

"You didn't…nevermind, I don't want to know."

"Snow, it's just a dream, nothing more, okay? I don't know what it means, but I don't think it means what it would mean if we were awake and does anything I just said make even a little bit of sense?"

"Yes and no." She takes a deep breath. "You're right; you should try again."

"Okay. Hopefully this time without anything weird happening."

"Hopefully. Yes," Snow answers dryly.

Emma can't help but grin at that. For whatever reason, Snow's sudden inability to deal with sexual issues related to her daughter – and yes, it's quite clear to her that Snow has a good idea about what had occurred between she and Regina in the dream – is oddly amusing to her. And kind of touching.

"Right," Emma says finally. "Wish me luck." She takes a step back over to the mirror, hesitates a moment and then touches the glass. A glimmer of gold suddenly circles around her and the mirror, and then she sees an image forming.

She sees Regina's bedroom from the vantage point of the mirror on that side. Her eyes fall on the bed, and she notices that though the sheets are turned down, no one is on the mattress. A look around and she finally sees Regina sitting on the ground, just in front of the dresser, her back up against the frame of her bed. Her head is in her hands, and for a moment, Emma think she's crying. When she doesn't move, though, Emma realizes that though the former queen might have at one point been in tears (an oddly disturbing thought for the blonde), she is now sleeping, exhaustion having once again overtaken her.

Emma takes a deep breath and then steps towards the mirror, the surface of the glass shimmering and becoming about as solid as water as she moves through it.

* * *

She finds herself once again in the cool darkness of Regina's bedroom, suddenly standing just above Regina's restlessly slumbering form. She watches the former queen for a long moment, taking in the messy dark hair that falls over the flawless olive skin of her face. She studies the silk pajamas, the shirt which has been lifted up just enough to expose smooth dark skin.

Oh, no, she thinks as her feet begin to guide her down towards Regina.

She feels almost like she's possessed, like she's being moved as opposed to moving of her own free will. She thinks maybe she should be objecting to this, wondering who or what is controlling her.

Problem is, she has a good idea that the thing in control of her is the thing that is pounding away within her chest – her heart.

It makes no sense, but then nothing about her life for the last six months has. What she knows is that in the world of Fairytales, the heart is more powerful than any weapon ever created. It creates actual tangible magic when happy and true absolute horror when broken. There's nothing metaphorical about the power of this organ in the world that Regina and Snow had come from.

So why then should it be so surprising that it's now her heart guiding her actions?

She allows the thoughts and confusion to slide away from her, knows there will be time for thinking about all of that later. For now, she allows the gentle waves of emotion rolling her through to control her hands and feet.

She drops down next to the former queen, and reaches out for her, cupping her chin in her fingers, and then lifting Regina's face up. The brunette blinks as she comes to. After a long moment of silence, she says tiredly, "You're back."

"I thought maybe you didn't understand what I was trying to tell you."

"And why's that?"

"You're too stubborn."

"What do you want, Miss Swan?" Regina asks, and the way she says this is enough to convince Emma that Snow had been right; Regina clearly doesn't believe that this actually is a message from the other world. She simply thinks it a dream to torment and torture her. And oddly, she's resigned herself to it.

The realization of this unusual surrender settles on Emma hard, fear ripping through her like ice water running through her veins. A defeated Regina is a broken Regina, and if she is that, then there's no hope for any of them.

"I need you to feel," Emma says, the words tearing from her mouth.

"So you already said, dear," Regina replies with a sigh. "You just weren't terribly clear on what you wanted me to feel. Last time, it seemed like you wanted me to feel your hands down my pants." The words are meant to be caustic, but they lack any kind of bite, and where as Emma imagines that she's meant to feel embarrassed for the actions within the first dream, she finds that she just feels terribly sad instead. Like maybe it hurts that that was all Regina had taken away.

Emma once again ignores the voice in her head telling her that this is ridiculous, the one asking her why she cares what the hell Regina thinks or feels.

Because she does. She just does.

Or at least her heart does, anyway. And right now, it's pushing her to act.

Without another word, she leans forward and gently, almost sweetly presses her mouth against Regina's, her chapped lips settling lightly against the former queen's soft ones. She runs her tongue over so lightly across them, tasting and exploring, feeling (and enjoying) the texture of the scar on the upper one.

All the while being amazed that Regina hasn't yet pushed her away.

Her hands circle Regina's body, pulling her closer, the kiss deepening as the space between them lessens. Finally, forced to come up for air (weird, she thinks, you wouldn't imagine the need for breathing in a dream), the two women stare at each other, Emma's curious green eyes gazing deeply into the worn-down caramel colored ones of the women she's supposed to hate.

The woman she should hate, but for some reason, doesn't.

She feels her heart beating heavily in her chest, so loud that she wonders if Regina can hear it. She's quite certain that she can feel it.

Well good then. That's a start.

"I need you to feel," Emma tells her once more, reaching up to cup Regina's cheek, her fingers lazily grazing over the delicate skin there.

"I don't know how to," Regina admits, unable to stop the way she dips her cheek against Emma's hand. "I don't know how to believe that this is real. When I wake up, all I see is the mirror. There's nothing in it. There's nothing anywhere."

"Look, I understand. Believing has never been something I've been good at, either. Took me forever to believe Henry." She smiles when she says this, trying to remove the sting of the words, trying to keep Regina from reacting to the understanding that this belief had been what had led to her downfall.

Thankfully, Regina seems to have accepted this and moved on from it. Or again, maybe she's just resigned to it.

"Believing in anyone has never really worked out for me," Regina answers, and Emma thinks she sees surprise cross the mayor's face, like maybe she hadn't meant to say that. Like maybe she's not calling the emotional shots here anymore than Emma is. Interesting, the blonde thinks to herself.

"I know," Emma answers. "But we – I - need you to try. We're on the other side, and if we don't get this portal open, your mother –"

Regina pulls back suddenly, putting distance between the two of them. Emma feels the loss radiate through her, coldness once again spiking within her. "My mother?" the brunette repeats, her voice shaky. "She's there?"

"Yes. And she's trying to get to you," Emma tells her. "Which means she'll happy go through us to get there."

For some reason, the realization that her mother is involved has seemed to convince Regina that this vision isn't just some kind of weird dream borne of desperation and exhaustion. Unfortunately, she's now quite skeptical of it, fear and paranoia contorting her beautiful face. "How do I know this isn't some kind of sick manipulation? You've never shown any kind of sexual interest in me."

Emma seems momentarily taken aback, somewhat because of Regina boiling all of this down to being about just sex, but mostly because ultimately, she's right. Certainly, she's always recognized the mayor as a beautiful woman worthy of physical admiration, but the animosity that has constantly been between them has always kept any other kinds of feeling at bay.

She stops then because "at bay" seems to suggest feelings having been in existence. She thinks back to the day at the mine and Regina being close enough to kiss (she distinctly recalls a moment of staring at the mayor's lips), she remembers the thrill of arguments and fights, the flash of perfect crossed legs as Regina had sat upon a table, and the intoxicating power of the fight in the hospital. And under all of that, she recalls the desire to be near Regina.

She'd always told herself that that had been about keeping an eye on Regina, but clearly, there's always been more to it than that.

For later, she tells herself.

For now, she has to convince Regina, make her understand. Seems to her that the only way to do that is with actions because words have never been her strong suit. So she leans in again and kisses the mayor once more, the touch rough and demanding, utterly unlike the first kiss. More like herself.

She's never been one for gentle, never had much use for it. She's always wanted to feel the pull of passion, the sheer force of it. And right now, she has a feeling that the only way to convince Regina that this is truly her is to be herself.

She has to be what Regina expects her to be.

She wraps a hand around the back of Regina's neck and yanks the mayor onto her, kissing her with an almost violent ferocity. When she finally pulls back reluctantly after a few long passionate moments, she gazes at Regina with blatant triumph glimmering in her green eyes.

Regina laughs then, the sound odd but beautiful. "That didn't exactly answer my question, Miss Swan," she says with a small smile.

"Yes, it did," Emma shoots back. "Sometimes, I hate you, Madame Mayor, but there's clearly something between us."

"First, I'm no longer the mayor, and second, that thing between us is Henry."

"You know it's more than that."

Regina shakes her head in response, sadness once again overtaking her.

"Regina, I need you to believe. I need you to let yourself feel."

"I can't," she snaps back. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I do, if I care about you at all, if I give a damn and feel like you want me to, she will take you from me. Like she took Daniel from me. Do you understand? She will destroy you and I can't…I can't."

"If you don't, you're right; she will destroy me. And then she'll come for you and you won't be able to stop her when she takes Henry from you, too."

Regina lets out a short strangled cry, sounding much like an animal that has been badly hurt. "No," she whispers. Tears fill her eyes.

"Then help me. Help me and I will stand with you, and we'll stop her together."

"I don't…"

"You can," Emma whispers, reaching out again. This time, she doesn't kiss Regina's lips (though the instinct to do so is strong). This time, she presses her mouth against the brunette's forehead, and wraps her arms around her torso, holding Regina tightly to her. She feels the sobs rather than sees or hears them.

Feels the heartbreak and fear. The loss and agony. The bone chilling loneliness and despair. It's devastating, and yet Emma holds on as tightly as she can.

"Let yourself feel," she whispers against Regina's skin. "I won't let you fall." The words leave her mouth without permission from her brain, but she only allows a momentary bit of wonder at them because to her heart, they seem right.

They seem true.

She moves her mouth down from Regina's forehead, and settles her face into the nook of the queen's neck, pressing her lips against the pulse she feels there.

The feel of a heartbeat.

She lifts her mouth once more, sealing it again over Regina's, this time delighting as she feels the queen respond fully, almost hungrily. Her hands slide beneath the silk material of the nightshirt, fingers seeking out warm flesh.

And then suddenly, abruptly, horribly, she's being pulled away.

Back through the mirror.

Back to the other world.

* * *

Emma tears away from the mirror again, her breathing ragged, her mouth open. She spins around to look for Snow, finding herself just a few feet away.

"What happened?"

"I had to pull you out," her mother answers sharply, a slight hint of apology in the tone. "She's here. Cora."

"How do you know?"

"Because she's right outside." Snow points out the window. Emma looks down to the ground level, and sure enough, she sees Cora standing there, seemingly (however unlikely that is) oblivious to being watched, her eyes focused on the door leading into the castle, her hands extended, and purple surrounding them. "She's using magic to try to get inside," Snow explains. "Regina must have fortified this place against her way back before the dark curse, but the protections are old and decayed. I think they're breaking down quickly."

"How much time do we have?"

"Not much," Snow answers grimly, the crossbow already in her hand again.

"Can we shoot her from here?" Emma asks.

"No, that purple around her is likely a force field. We'd just be wasting an arrow."

"Right. Well then I guess we'd better hope Regina understood my message this time," Emma answers, glancing back at the mirror.

"You think she did?"

Emma smiles slightly, the memory of the last kiss still burning in her mind. "Yeah," she answers. "I think she did."

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Again, much thanks for all the kind words. Two more chapters to go.

* * *

She feels more than a little bit stupid right about now. She's staring at the mirror in her bedroom, the reflection showing her the baffled expression currently plastered across her sleep-deprived face. She squints and tries to look beyond herself, tries to see what might exist beyond the glass, but there's nothing there.

She considers heading downstairs to the basement and retrieving a bottle of the deepest of her red wines. Or perhaps maybe even something stronger like whiskey. It' not usually her drink of choice, but she's willing to indulge in it if the situation calls for it as this one so clearly does. Really, right now she'll try anything if it will help her sleep and forget the craziness of this night, and its bizarre dreams. Try as she might, though, she can't seem to make the erotic images still moving through her brain like water through a hose just go away.

She scrubs her hands over her face, pressing her fingers into her brows for a moment as she tries to frantically rub away the dully-vibrating tension headache that is suddenly forming there. Part of it is stress, the other is sleep deprivation, and then, there's the part of her, which is her wondering if maybe – just maybe – she's finally losing her damned mind for good.

Hardly shocking after the events of the last couple of weeks. Hell, the events of the last several decades. She's not exactly a study in sanity and normalcy.

Still, there's something about the power of the two dreams that she's had that forces her to consider the possible truth of them. She's had bizarre visions before – some that were even oddly prophetic – but this had felt entirely different.

This had felt real.

She can still feel Emma's hands on her, warm against her skin, gentle fingers sliding both up and down her. And she can still recall the way Emma had tasted when the blonde had kissed her.

These memories are vivid and tangible.

They are what make her walk over to the mirror again.

She tilts her head and gazes at the silver glass of the mirror, losing herself in the haunting darkness of her own caramel colored eyes. She sees loss and pain and anger and hurt there. She sees vengeance and hatred, fury and evil.

She sees nothing worth saving, nothing worth loving.

She thinks of Daniel, thinks of him speaking to her, the pain of his imminent death shattering both of them at the same time. "Then love again," he'd told her.

Impossible. Unthinkable.

Well, maybe not completely.

Until recently, she hadn't realized just how strong her feelings for her son really were. She'd known them to be deep affection and an almost overwhelming desire to protect, but until he'd almost died, she hadn't actually had a word for what she felt that properly fit. Now she does. Now she knows – really knows – that she loves Henry with everything inside of her, everything that matters.

Loving your child is one thing. Being able to love another person in a spiritual way, well that's not something she truly believes she is capable of doing again.

Especially Emma Swan.

The damned woman had come into her life like a tornado, and destroyed everything she'd created without pause or care. Emma had upended her entire life, turned everything around and reduced her entire existence to little more than a pile of angrily smoldering ashes. And she'd done so with a roll of her eyes.

Regina's jaw hardens angrily as she pictures the blonde woman in her mind. Standing in front of her in a park of indigo blue jeans and that disastrously ugly red jacket of hers. She sees Emma leaning slightly forward, her hands pushed into the back pockets of her jeans, a careless smile crossing her lips.

That smile – really more of a lazy smirk that Emma doesn't even really make the effort to finish into a complete facial expression – says everything about the sheriff. She's immature, irresponsible, and unbearably foolish. She acts before she thinks, believes that what her heart tells her is always the right path to take.

And she's a general pain in the ass.

A pain in the ass her son loves more than he loves the woman who'd raised him.

She feels crushing pain streak through her blood, sharp and poisonous. Deep beneath her skin, the darkest of magic stirs like an angry viper. It asks for prey, and waits patiently for her response. She's never denied it before.

Today she does.

She takes a deep shuddering breath, balls her hands into fists, counts to ten, and then lets the anger fold back, and lets it drip away like water from a faucet.

Because deep down, deep in the core of her shattered spirit and broken heart, she understands why Henry loves Emma more than he loves her. Who wouldn't?

The blonde sheriff is irritating and annoying, but she's also kind hearted, generous and even in spite of all the nightmares of her past (Regina has done enough background research to know that Emma's dark and lonely days in the system have left her with more than a few scars, both physical and mental), she's still able to make connections with people. She's still able to love.

Regina is envious of this to the point of madness, and yet she finds herself unable to summon forth the usual indignant rage. Quite to the contrary, almost inexplicably, she finds herself wondering – stupidly, she thinks – what it would be like to be on the opposite side of such love again.

This is insanity, she thinks to herself with a pained sigh. She'd learned a long time ago that following dreams could only lead to heartbreak and hurt. She'd learned that lesson well, perhaps far better than anyone else ever would.

She'd taught that brutal soul-shattering lesson to others in turn.

She'd made sure the entire world knew of the childish absurdity of chasing silly dreams such as love. She'd made sure they felt her loss of innocence.

And yet, here she is, standing in front of her mirror, wondering if maybe the dreams she'd had of being held and touched by Emma had been more than just simple visions born of exhaustion. She finds herself wondering if maybe they could offer her a second chance.

Wondering if just maybe the Savior could save her as well.

Taking yet another deep breath, she closes her eyes, and reaches for the glass of the mirror, her fingers shaking fiercely, her heart slamming away violently within her chest.

* * *

"We're running out of time," Snow shouts back at her daughter, her wide eyes locked on Cora, who is still standing below, her body now glowing a deep purple.

"I know," Emma replies shortly, eyes on the silent silver surface of the mirror. Though she's not entirely sure why, she feels a deep sense of disappointment running through her. It's a strange thing, really, because none of this is logical.

She doesn't love Regina Mills.

Hell, she doesn't even like the damned woman.

So what the hell had that dream been about?

What's even weirder to her is the realization that she'd been the one driving the bus in the erotic dreams. She, Emma Swan who has spent the vast majority of her life avoiding relationships and dodging all types of commitments. Since Neal, she hasn't issued so much as an "I'll think about it" to anyone who had proposed extending a romantic rendezvous out past a day or so.

She's been stubborn and stalwart, insistent that she'll never put her heart on the line again for anyone. To date, she'd been damned good at sticking to that personal vow. No one had gotten in or under her protective wall.

No one.

So why then is a dream now pushing her to profess feelings – and yes, she has a pretty good idea that this vision thing, whatever it is, intends for the emotions being shared between she and Regina to be requited – for the woman who she has every right in the world to hate with the heat of a thousand suns.

It's absolutely preposterous.

This is Regina!

Regina is cold and heartless, and often quite a horrible woman. She's committed heinous acts almost beyond description. She's responsible for the fact that Emma had grown up in foster care as opposed to in a castle.

She's a devil in high heels, and despite a self-admitted liking for the more dangerous things in life, Emma doesn't actually consider that to be a compliment.

Thing is, though, the one thing Emma also knows – perhaps better than anyone – is that Regina Mills is also very human. It's something that Emma had seen and recognized almost since the day they'd first met. Sure, Regina had pissed her off to the point where she hadn't cared to look for the humanity beneath the hatred, but it had always been there.

A shattered and broken woman hiding behind her anger.

Funny thing is, Emma can relate. Sure, she doesn't show everyone her fangs every chance she gets, and sure, her natural instinct isn't to scratch and claw whenever anyone gets to close, but she understands all too well the need to let the world know that it had failed her. The very bitter and cold truth is that the sheriff understands hurt and rage and betrayal entirely too well.

How then, she wonders, must the dark-haired former queen have felt when she'd learned that the child she had raised and adored almost since the day he'd been born, preferred another woman to mother him. A woman he'd known nothing about, but loved instantly simply because she had existed.

The pain must have been horrendous, beyond words really.

And in that pain, Emma sees Regina's humanity.

She sees Regina's heart, and within that clearly bruised and damaged organ, Emma sees the chance to love and be loved. She sees hope for both of them. She doesn't understand it, but perhaps in this moment, she realizes that she doesn't need to. Perhaps, for once, she just needs to have faith.

Emma reaches for the mirror, touches it, and says simply, "Let yourself feel."

Regina feels the words more than she hears them, and finally, she understands that this is magic beyond what even she or Rumplestilskin are capable of. This is the kind of magic that has no true origin. This is the kind that bleeds through every living creature. Some – those who allow themselves to - feel it more than others, but all that draw air can hear its song if they just listen for it.

She does now.

Her hand touches the glass.

* * *

"Where the hell are we?" Emma asks, turning the face the former queen. Her expression is one of wonder, but there's fear there as well. She's hardly the one who should be guiding anyone else around in the ways of love and faith.

"I don't know," Regina admits, her voice low and throaty. She looks around their surroundings, taking in the rolling green hills and the brilliant blue skies high above them. "It's vaguely familiar to me, but I can't quite place it." She has no idea how they got here, but she finds that she's not terribly surprised that neither of them are where they were just seconds ago.

Seems par for this evening's wacky course.

"It's beautiful," Emma notes. She tries to find a wall or something that would indicate this world – this vision – to be fake (like a holodeck), but she sees nothing, but green and blue. Nothing but open space and abundant air.

"Peaceful," Regina admits with an indulgent sigh. She wonders for a moment if she's died, and this is the afterlife, but then quickly dismisses this thought. No matter what Emma offers her here (or anywhere), she can't imagine that what comes in the world following the living one will offer her any mercy.

Certainly not this kind of serenity.

"Stop," she hears, and suddenly the blonde sheriff is right next to her, invading her private space with her typical brand of rough disregard and impatience.

"Stop what, dear?" Regina responds, glancing up at the bright sun in the sky. It's warm without being hot, just perfectly pleasant. She feels the heat on her cheeks, and allows another small sigh to escape her lips.

"Thinking. Wondering where the lie is?"

The former queen blinks at this, then chuckles dryly. "You of all people are telling me not to look for the curtain? I may be evil, but you're a cynic."

"So I am. And I'm the one telling you to allow yourself to let go and feel."

"And that doesn't worry you? That you're saying something so utterly unlike yourself? Have you considered for a moment the absurdity of this situation?"

"Of course."

"And your conclusions? Because mine are that we are being manipulated."

"My conclusions are that I'm stuck in a world where ogres and giants actually exist, and characters from my favorite Disney movies don't sing."

"Which means what exactly?" Regina presses, frowning a bit.

"It means anything is possible. Maybe we are being manipulated, but maybe we're not. Maybe my conclusions are that none of anything that's happening to us makes a damned bit of sense so why should this – " she waves her hands around them, then gestures towards Regina – "even begin to."

"Because love should make sense."

"Now you're just trolling," Emma laughs.

"What?"

"No, of course you don't know what that means." The blonde shakes her head, smiling a bit. "I mean, even you know that love by its very definition doesn't make sense. It's not meant to. It's supposed to be messy and emotional and –"

"Are you saying you love me, Miss Swan?"

Emma reacts sharply to this, the words cutting through to her heart like a dart.

"I…"

"Exactly. So whatever this is –"

"Is at the very least hope," Emma puts in quickly.

"Hope for what?" She looks around again. "Green hills and blue skies? That's not reality, and we both know it. Life isn't greens and blues. It's reds and blacks."

"Regina…"

"The reality is that even if this works, even if I open a portal between our worlds by sobbing out my feelings, and opening my heart, nothing changes. You return and Henry continues loving you more than he will ever love me. You come home to a grand reunion with your perfect little family and I'll still be where I am. That is the truth. Everything else is the lie."

"We have very different ideas of the word perfect."

Regina smiles at this, but for once, Emma notices that the expression isn't dripping with malice or hatred. It's sad and wistful. "You know what the funny thing is?" the brunette asks, "I'm not even angry about it anymore. I'm just…"

"Alone," Emma finishes for her. Regina looks up when she feels Emma's hands on hers, fingers intertwining. "I get it, Regina. I do. Maybe better than anyone else. I've been here."

"I sincerely doubt that." She lifts up the hand that is connected to Emma's and holds it up. "Tell me something, Miss Swan; if I help bring you home, and she follows after you, will you really stand with me like you said you would? Will you really stop my mother from destroying me?"

"Yes."

"Why? And don't say Henry because if that is all this is, then save your energy and your obnoxious white knight heroism for him. I neither deserve it nor want it."

"What do you want from me then?" Emma asks with an exhausted sigh. She is aware of the passage of time outside of this shared vision, and she hopes and prays that while this is occurring, Snow isn't having to face Cora's evil by herself.

"The truth, Miss Swan, that's all."

"From you, that's rich," Emma retorts, her patience snapping.

"I know, but you're not me, and right now, I need to know if this is real or if this – if those visions we shared - are all just a way for you to get home."

"Does it matter?"

"No," Regina replies. "It doesn't. If it's within my power, I'm bringing you home tonight no matter your answer."

"Why? And don't you say Henry," Emma lobs back, echoing Regina's words.

Regina smiles thinly at this, somewhat amused by the blonde's ability to once again effectively counter her. She shrugs then. "I honestly don't know." She lifts her eyes up to meet Emma's. "Now your turn. Were they real?"

"I honestly don't know, either, but I know that they felt real to me," Emma replies. She leans forward then and presses her lips against Regina's, once again feeling the texture and taste of the former queen's mouth. After a moment, she reluctantly pulls back and says softly, "This feels real to me."

"Then close your eyes," Regina tells her, her voice so very low and soft. For a moment, Emma does nothing, so surprised is she by the odd order coming from the brunette. It doesn't seem to make contextual sense. "Please," the former queen continues, reaching up with a hand to lightly cup Emma's cheek. The touch is gentle and warm.

And suddenly, Emma gets it. She knows what Regina is planning to do. "Will you be okay?" she blurts out, worry darkening her green eyes.

"I will manage as I always have, my dear," Regina answers with a smile. "Now do as I say and close your eyes. Oh and uh, you might want to duck."

"Duck? Why?"

"Because if I'm successful, you're about to get sprayed with glass."

* * *

She doesn't think she'll ever get used to this. One moment, she's in the shared vision with Regina, the blues and greens surrounding them like a warm peaceful cloak. The next, she's back in the former queen's Fairytale Land castle, standing mere inches away from her frantic mother. Apparently, very little time has passed, but enough so that Cora is coming up on them very quickly.

Time has run out for them, and they both know it.

It's the glance towards the mirror that reminds Emma of Regina's words. With a sweep of her arm, the blonde grabs at her surprised mother, and then throws them both to the ground. "Emma?" Snow asks. "What's going on?"

"Just trust me. Keep your head down."

* * *

Regina's hands slide through the mirror, and though she doesn't feel the sharpness of glass cutting into her, she feels the pain of a thousand vibrant emotions. From joy to despair, from love to hate. She sees every image of her destroyed life lying shattered in front of her like shards and she realizes that in order to get to the women on the other side, she has to step over them.

It's ridiculously metaphorical. It's some kind of great joke that only the old world could dream up. And in this moment, as she hovers between two lands, she realizes that it – and all of the emotions it encompasses – are very real.

She steps through the mirror, its silver surface separating like water in order to allow the queen to pass through.

She feels emotions pouring through her as her mind fills with pictures. She sees her mother and father. She tastes copper in her mouth as she tumbles to the ground, her mother inches away from her, hatred contorting what might once have been a beautiful face.

She feels Daniel's arms around her, his bright smile warming her heart.

She sees Snow and Leopold and a runaway horse that brings with it the end of every dream that she's ever had. She hears a child's innocent and careless laughter, and feels her soul shrivel and scream with hurt and rage.

She smells baby powder and tearless shampoo. She feels small fingers clutching around her own. She feels a small boy's messy kiss upon her cheek. She sees her own lips imprinted bright red upon his pink forehead. She feels an explosion within her heart which nearly consumes her whole as she gazes at the face of her son as he sleeps.

The final image she sees is of herself lying in her own bed. She's seen this image before, she realizes; it'd come to her just hours earlier after the first shared dream. It's of her resting in Emma's arms. Peaceful and content. Perhaps even happy.

Hot tears running down her face, she wills forth strength that she hasn't had within herself for many years.

She dares to love again.

The glass shatters.

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy.

Just a word of warning, this chapter does contain some mild violence within it. Be forewarned as is necessary.

* * *

In the moments before the world of fairytales had been cursed into the next plane of existence – a land without magic – there'd been a loud explosion, and then a chaotic spray of glass. The glittering shards had erupted around the furious form of the Evil Queen, her hands held out as she had celebrated her imminent victory over all of those whom she believed had so heinously wronged her.

Snow White remembers those painful moments in a way that is somehow beyond vivid. She recalls the nearly devastating heartbreak that she'd felt as she'd held the unconscious – perhaps dead – body of her beloved husband. She recalls thinking about the minutes old daughter that she wondered if she'd ever see again, and dammit if she doesn't have the feel of sharp glass cutting harshly into her skin indelibly stamped onto her brain.

Now, as shimmering glass once again shatters around her, she thinks back to those terrible moments. That there are shards once again spraying the room courtesy of the Evil Queen is an uncomfortable bit of irony for her. Especially when you consider the reason that the woman has come into this world.

Emma. She's come for Emma.

It'd been all about Emma last time as well. Back then, Regina's horrible plan had been all about taking the newborn child away from Snow and Charming, thereby forcibly removing their ability to raise and love their little girl.

She had succeeded.

Now, Snow has no idea what the plan is.

These visions that her daughter has been sharing with Regina terrify her. She recalls the ones she'd shared with Charming, remembers the hypnotic sensuality of them, the raw emotional intimacy. She can't even begin to fathom how Emma and Regina could begin to share anything comparable.

Frankly, she can't even begin to imagine how Regina could share real intimacy with anyone. Especially not the child whose life she had so horribly ruined.

And yet, as shards of glass once again splice into her skin thereby causing small tendrils of bright red blood to slither down her cheek, Snow finds herself forced to acknowledge that clearly, Emma and Regina had shared something.

Clearly, there's some kind of emotional connection between the two women.

She's disturbed by this, perhaps even heartbroken by it, but as she looks up at the dark haired woman who has quite suddenly emerged from the broken mirror, she realizes that such things will have to wait for later.

Right now, hopefully, it's time to go back to Storybrooke.

The woman known to everyone in this land as the Evil Queen steps out of the destroyed mirror, feeling a thousand pieces of glass cut mercilessly into her exposed flesh. She feels dozen of small flashes of pain, but her mind ignores these, effortlessly tosses these away as mere insignificant distractions.

She's still dressed in the light blue silk pajamas she'd worn to bed, and she has a moment of discomfort at the realization of this. She knows that she's about to face her worst nightmare (whether that be her mother or Emma Swan, she's not quite sure), and it seems a bit odd to do so wearing sleepwear.

All of that fades away, though, the moment her eyes settle upon the sprawled out forms of Snow and Emma. They're both lying on the ground, hands covering their heads so as to minimize the damage from the exploding glass. Not that their attempt to do so completely works; she can see blood on both of their faces, and some trickling down the exposed flesh of Emma's muscular right bicep.

"Regina?" Emma asks then, looking up at the dark haired woman who is standing above her. Her wide green eyes take in the form of her usual nemesis. She sees exhausting stamped hard onto Regina's face, fatigue bruising her eyes. Still, there's something oddly majestic about the brunette, something powerful.

"Stay down," Regina replies, her voice low and authoritative. "Neither one of you move until I tell you to."

Snow starts to protest, starts to move almost in spite of Regina's words, but Emma catches her arm, and shakes her head. "Trust me."

"And you trust her?" Snow asks her, her tone thick with disbelief.

"Right now, I do," Emma admits with a shrug. She can't explain why she believes this, won't even try to right now, but she knows her words are right. Knows that the only way through this mess is to trust the brunette. Believe in her.

"If you two are done discussing my trustworthiness," Regina inserts dryly, "Then please do shut up. My mother is coming."

The two women exchange an exasperated look, both of them chafing against being ordered around by Regina. After a moment, they both turn their attention back towards the former queen, Snow noting with more than a spark of surprise and fear that Regina is now completely surrounded by purple energy.

Apparently, back here in their home world, magic for her is like riding a bike.

"Regina," Emma says softly. She doesn't know what the end of the sentence is, though. Perhaps it's a warning or perhaps it's a plea.

Perhaps she's simply asking Regina not to betray her faith.

"Be silent, Miss Swan, and listen for a moment if you're capable of it," the former queen answers, her voice as low as Emma has ever heard it. Emma considers arguing with her, protesting her orders, but once again, she chooses to believe in the advice she'd given to Snow; she chooses to trust Regina right now.

"Your play," Emma says softly, the warm feel of blood dripping down her cheek momentarily distracting her. It's hardly the first time she's been bloodied up in the last year, but there's something strangely intimate about these wounds having been created by glass shredded thanks to her…whatever the hell Regina is to her…having stepped through a mirror from a different world in order to save her.

Intimate and weird.

Regina turns her head slightly, her normally chocolate dark brown eyes glowing a disturbingly bright shade of violet. In spite of her odd faith in the woman, Emma finds herself deeply unsettled by this. It's clear that magic is flowing through Regina's bloodstream, and historically, this has never been good for anyone in her family. And yet, almost inexplicably, her faith in Regina stays strong.

"When my mother enters this room, I'll distract her. While I'm doing that, I want you two to make your way back through the portal. The mirror."

And this is why her faith is strong, Emma understands with nearly shocking suddenness. She's surprised to realize that she's not one bit surprised to realize that Regina plans to throw herself in front of them in order to save them. Emma lifts her green eyes up and tries to meet Regina's, tries desperately to make a connection with the brunette, but Regina refuses to allow it.

Instinctively, Emma knows that what Regina is doing is refusing to allow the blonde to her see the deep shuddering fear lurking deep behind the violet of her magically enhanced eyes. She's terrified, Emma thinks to herself.

"Why can't we just go through it now?" Snow demands suddenly, feeling more and more uncomfortable with the situation at hand. She knows better than just about anyone how badly magic can corrupt. She knows what it does to Regina.

"We need more power to juice it from this side," Regina answers with an impatient sigh. "I used…emotion…on the Storybrooke side. We'll need magic here. My mother can supply all that we need and more if I work this right."

"All right, I get it," Emma nods. "We go through. What about you?"

"I'll be right behind you."

"How will you distract her?" Snow asks, tossing her daughter a look. She can see the frustration in Emma's eyes, the clear fear that this situation is about to go upside down in an entirely new and unexpected way.

"With my own magic, dear," Regina answers.

"Like you said, her magic is well, more," Emma reminds the former queen, her voice sharp with irritation.

"I didn't actually say that, but it's probably the truth," Regina concedes. "That said, somehow I doubt she expects me to be as powerful as I am now."

"Regina…"

"No more arguments. Snow, once everything starts, I'll try to draw her fire towards the mirror. If I'm successful, the portal should open back up. When it does, you grab your daughter and whatever it takes – no matter how much she fights you, and we both know stubborn idiotic mule that she is, she will fight you - you push her through that portal door."

"Hey!" Emma puts in. She's starting to really not like where this is going. Yes, she understands the idea of using yourself as a shield but that Regina is already anticipating her trying to stay back and fight is worrisome. It's almost like the brunette is expecting one hell of a battle. A battle that maybe she can't win.

"Snow?" Regina presses, ignoring the blonde. "Do you understand?"

"I do," Snow answers with a frown. She tries to ignore the glare Emma is throwing her, tries to pretend her heart doesn't ache just a bit.

Because dammit if it doesn't sound like Regina's not sure that she will be following the two of the back through the portal to Storybrooke.

And Snow has the worst fear that if she doesn't, if the Evil Queen falls today at her mothers' wicked hands, well then Emma's already deeply fragile heart just might shatter into as many shards as the mirror had.

"Good," Regina says suddenly. "Because she's here."

She takes a breath then, offers Emma a quick sad smile, and then turns to face the door of the room, her hands up, purple energy radiating off of her as she gets ready to face the nightmare which had helped to create her.

* * *

Emma Swan feels like she's hung-over. Really, that's the best comparison she can make for the nearly explosive pain she feels radiating through her her brain as she comes to her senses. She groans loudly as she tries to sit up, the headache dramatically slowing her down. Her stomach rolls and for a moment, she thinks that she's about to throw up. Moving into the fetal position just makes everything ache all the more.

"Ow," she whimpers, before hissing out a few choice expletives.

"Hey, easy," she hears. "Take your time."

She blinks then, and bright white light floods her vision. Involuntarily, she whimpers again. She seals her eyes against the visual assault.

"I'll turn it down," the voice chuckles. It's male and familiar.

David. Charming. Dad.

Her eyes snap open, and this time, she ignores the sharp radiating pain in her skull and brain. "We're back," she breathes.

"You are," he nods, his face erupting into a wide smile as she finally manages to clear her vision up enough to look at him. "You both are." Hesitantly, he reaches out and lightly touches her face. The contact is warm and gentle.

And oddly welcome.

She smiles at him, then puts a hand over his. She settles it there for a moment, allowing the feelings of family to flow through her. Then, softly, "So Mary Margaret is okay then, too?"

"Your mother is fine."

Emma tilts her head at that. She chuckles dryly. "Yeah. That's still going to take me some time. More time, I mean."

"I can imagine. You feeling okay?"

"Not really," she admits with a small shrug. She lifts a hand to her forehead, then winces sharply again. "Ow. What the hell happened?"

"I was hoping one of you could tell me. Snow doesn't really remember much."

"Great. Neither do I."

"No idea where all these little cuts came from?" he gestures towards her arm and she sees almost a dozen tiny scratches. Almost like they were made from…

"Glass," Emma says suddenly.

"Sydney?"

"No. Regina."

"Okay, I'm completely lost. What does Regina have to do with this?" There's a kind of frustrated anger in his tone now, and she finds herself wondering what has occurred between her father and the former queen during the last month.

"She rescued us."

"What?"

Emma puts up a hand. "It's too long of a story, and it doesn't make a bit of sense, but…did she come back through the portal with us?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Last night, we were sleeping –"

"We?"

"Me and Henry."

"Henry's here?"

"Also a long story."

"Wait, is Regina still the mayor?" Emma queries, remembering a comment the brunette had made in one of their shared visions.

"No. Again, long story. How about you tell me yours first."

"I don't know mine," she blurts out. "What happened last night? Here, I mean."

"We were sleeping, we heard an explosion and when we came down, the two of you were lying in the middle of the floor, both dead unconscious. I had Whale come over and check you out. He said you were both fine and would wake soon."

"I guess he was right. Regina wasn't with us?"

"No. Should she have been?"

"Yes." She pushes herself to her feet. "Where's Henry now?"

"With Red. He wanted to stay here, but I didn't want him around in case something else came through the portal with you two."

"But nothing else did, right?"

"Not that I saw. What is going on, Emma?"

She shakes her head, unable to find the words to explain this. "I have to go."

"Where?"

"Is she awake?" Emma queries as she starts digging through drawers, looking for fresh jeans to put on. She feels a surge of joy at the reality of being able to wear clean clothes for the first time in over a month. Actually, now that she thinks about it, a shower sounds nice right about now, too. Not for the sake of vanity or hygiene alone, but also to clear the thick cobwebs away from her tired brain. If Regina needs help, Emma knows that she needs to be thinking clearly.

Abruptly, a bundle of clothes heaped in her arms, she heads towards the bathroom. Once inside, acutely aware of the fact that David has followed her to the door, she turns on the water as hot as she can get it.

"Are you asking me if Regina is awake?" he calls out.

"No…Mary…my roommate. Is she awake yet?" Emma shouts back as she climbs into the tub, and slides herself beneath the showerhead. This is going to have to be a quick wash and rinse, nothing overly indulgent, unfortunately. Hopefully, there will be time – and calm enough - for that later.

"She woke up," he answers with a worried frown. "But she's sleeping again now."

"Is she all right?"

"She is. She has the same cuts on her that you do."

"I know," Emma answers as she weaves shampoo through her thick tangled up blonde hair. She sighs as she feels clumps of dirt release, watches as they fall to the floor of the shower, then tumble down the drain. It's not enough, though. Never really a woman of luxurious ways, she realizes that she actually wishes she could stay in here for the next hour de-clumping and scrubbing herself.

Oh well.

"Emma, I don't understand," Charming tells her, his voice soft. She hears pain there, a kind of deep longing. Like he wants to connect to her.

She wants that, too. Just not right now.

"I know you don't. I'm not sure I do, either." She steps out of the shower, quickly dries herself, and starts pulling clothes on. She notices that her jeans don't quite fit as they used to; she's lost weight and the pants sag on her just a bit. "Well at least something good came out of that place," she muses.

"What?"

"Nothing," she answers. She steps out of the bathroom and approaches her father. "Look, when Mary Margaret comes to again, ask her to explain everything as best she can. Right now, though, I have to go. I have to find Regina."

"Did she do something to you?" he asks, his blue eyes hardening.

"Yes, she did," Emma nods. "And I'll deal with it. You stay with your wife. With…you stay with…with Mom. Okay?"

"I will, but Emma…Regina's dangerous."

"Yes, she is, but not to me." And with that, she turns and leaves the room. A moment later, the bewildered man hears the front door of the loft close.

* * *

The woman known to many as the Evil Queen screams in frustration and fear as she realizes with a bolt of terror that she's still on the castle side of the mirror. She looks down at her hands, realizing that the magic would had been flowing through her entire body just mere minutes earlier has now dissipated. She snaps her fingers, tries to pull the energy back into herself, but it's gone. Completely so, apparently.

She's powerless. And alone. Completely at the mercy of her mother.

She takes a deep shuddering breath, her eyes on the mirror in front of her. What she sees there now is nothing but the black solid surface behind the glass, a hundred small sharp fragments of silver still sticking out from its edges.

"Darling, what's wrong?" her mother purrs, the thrill of victory blackening her voice and making it sound like pure evil.

"I don't understand," Regina whispers to herself, ignoring the gloating woman behind her. She places her hands against the dark surface of the mirror, her expression showing her confusion as she tries to understand why the door had closed before she could enter it. Her goal had been to survive just long enough to follow Emma and Snow through. She had. Unfortunately, the door had closed.

Trapping her here. With her vengeful hateful mother.

"Of course you don't. You never did," Cora chuckles. "You always believed that you could defy me. You always thought that you could escape your destiny. Well, my dear girl, today you learn the truth; no one can. Certainly not you."

Regina feels the corrosive and cruel touch of dark magic snake across her skin, and in that awful moment, she finds herself reminded – horribly so – of Daniel's touch. Before she'd helped him leave the living world once more, he'd held her in his grasp, and his hold had been cold and dead. Corrupted by magic.

Destroyed by hatred and power.

She'd tried to forget that touch, tried to romanticize and cleanse it, but this one, she can't. This one – her mother's – has haunted every nightmare she's had for the last three decades of her life. Longer, if she's completely honest with herself.

"You thought that ridiculous blonde girl would save you, didn't you?" Cora chuckles as she spins her daughter around to face her. "As you saved her."

Regina lifts her head up, eyes snapping with angry defiance. "I'm not afraid of you." Her tone is hard, firm and powerful. All just an act, though.

One her mother sees right through.

"Of course you are. As you should be, my beloved child." She lifts her hand then and throws her daughter with as much force as she can against the mirror. The remaining glass there, no longer liquid, cracks and shatters beneath the quaking body of the former queen, cutting roughly into the woman's back.

Regina screams. Bright shockwaves of pain radiate through her body, electric and horrific. She shudders as blood flows down her skin, reminding her of childhood beatings, ripping her back to a time of nearly constant agony.

"I am curious," Cora says with a smirking knowing smile. "How did you get here? Through the mirror?" And then she laughs. "Oh wait, I know; you love the girl."

"I don't," Regina hisses back.

"So of course you say, but we both know better, don't we?" Cora replies. "If you didn't feel something for her, something strong, then the portal would never have opened. That mirror is a Soul Door, and the only way to walk through it is to –"

"Stop," Regina pleads, her voice cracking as she speaks. "Just stop."

"The only way to walk through the soul door is to love someone with all of your soul," Cora finishes with a derisive sneer. "Oh, you stupid silly girl, did you not learn the weakness of love last time? Do I really have to teach you this lesson again?" She slams Regina against the mirror once more. "Do I?"

Regina closes her eyes. Tears streak down her face. She feels herself breaking.

She thinks about Daniel's words to her. Love again.

She had. Against her better judgment, she'd opened up her heart again, allowed herself to feel enough emotion (this is an understatement, she knows, as it takes no simple amount of feeling to enact this form of magic) to open the Soul Door.

And now, once again, she finds herself about to pay a terrible price for such foolish love.

* * *

The lack of answer at the front door just about scares the hell out of Emma. After a moment of hesitation (long enough to muse on the idea of a furious Regina going off on her for causing destruction to her house), she reels back and kicks out at the solid front door, her foot cracking loudly against the wooden frame.

One more kick and it creaks and gives. She races inside. "Regina!"

She's greeted by a cold silence.

She tears through the rooms, then races up the stairs. She stops by the closed door to Henry's room, places a hand upon it, and then, after a moment, pushes it open. It, too, is empty, though shockingly unsettlingly in just how static it appears to be. Almost as though Regina has left everything looking exactly as it had on the last day Henry had been within the room. Even a stack of clean clothes sits on the bed, as if waiting to be put away in drawers. She feels her heart ache terribly for a woman who quite clearly desperately misses her son. That, she thinks, can be worked on later.

Once she's verified Regina's safety.

She'd promised the brunette that she'd stand with her, stand beside her. It's a promise she means to keep no matter what she has to do to make it happen.

She enters Regina's room and almost immediately, stops cold, her wide green eyes rising up to the silver mirror on the wall.

A mirror which is showing images from another world.

"Regina," she whispers as the brunette slams violently against the wall. When she's peeled back and away from it, Emma seems that the former queen's back is stained bright red with blood. She hears a horrific sound – a guttural groan of agony - and realizes with a horrible shock that it's coming from Regina.

"You don't understand why you couldn't follow her through, do you?" Cora taunts as she steps towards her wounded daughter. "Well let me educate you once more, my dear daughter. You saved her life with your feelings, but as she didn't feel the same way about you, as she didn't see fit to save you, you couldn't follow her back. She needed to show the same emotion as you did, but she didn't. She doesn't love you as you love her."

"Please," Regina whispers, pain radiating from her eyes. It's horrific to see this proud woman reduced to this, to see her so heartbroken and crushed.

"Did you really think a girl like that could ever love a weak and pathetic creature like you?" Cora continues with a sharp cruel laugh.

"No," Regina admits, the rest of her strength and resistance bleeding away.

"No," Cora agrees. "She never could." And then she flicks her hand again, slamming Regina's body once more against the hard surface of the mirror.

"Stop," Emma whispers desperately, tears in her bright green eyes. She reaches out for the mirror, reaches out for Regina. "Stop."

As her fingers touch the glass, she feels her mind flood with vivid images.

She sees herself standing in the doorway of Henry's room, watching as her son slumbers, his head rested against his adopted mother's chest. She sees Regina stroking his hair, her fingers absently dipping beneath the strands.

She sees herself on the couch in Regina's study, holding the former queen against her, the mouths connected, their arms wrapped around each other. She sees the contact deepening, the touches hardening. She watches as clothes are shed, thrown away and forgotten about as hands and mouth begin to move.

She sees herself lying on Regina's oversized bed, quite obviously completely naked. She feels fingers tracing up and down her spine, dancing out a gentle almost soothing rhythm. When she turns her head, she sees Regina next to her on the mattress, reading a book, clearly unaware of what she's doing.

And finally, she sees herself holding Regina tightly in her arms, the warmth of the former queens' body heating her up. She feels calm and peace.

And love.

She steps through the mirror.

* * *

She's starting to black out, starting to lose her connection to reality. Perhaps this is a good thing, she thinks. Perhaps she'll be lucky enough not to wake up again.

Her mother has other plans, though. Just as the grays and blacks start to invade her vision, she feels her eyes get ripped open. She feels magic holding her up, forcing her to stay conscious just long enough to learn her lesson about love.

Her mother wants her to hurt for what she's done. Her mother wants her to understand who is in control. Who has always been in control.

Her mother wants her to understand the futility of love.

Regina understands the lesson all too well, and yet deep down, she knows that this is a lesson that she will never properly learn. Deep down, she knows that she will never - as long as she draws breath – completely forsake the idea of loving and being loved in return.

When her back hits the wall again, she cries out for Henry. Cries for him, too.

Her mother laughs, and flicks her wrist again.

When Regina's head connects with the solid surface of the mirror this time, she whispers Emma's name even as blood leaks into her eyes, staining her vision a bright shade of red. She tries to focus on the images – and feeling - from the visions that she'd shared with the blonde sheriff.

She tries to see herself lying peacefully in Emma's arms.

Somewhere distantly, as she fades out finally (mercifully), she thinks she hears what sounds like an explosion of glass from the mirror behind her.

That there's no more glass left to shatter doesn't occur to her.

Emma is as shocked as anyone to find herself on the opposite side of the shattered mirror, back in the former queen's castle in Fairytale Land.

Back with Regina and Cora.

Her eyes immediately settle over the unconscious form of the former queen, the bright red blood stains splotching her blue pajamas causing Emma to frown in worry and fear. "Regina," she whispers, moving quickly over to the woman. Almost tenderly, she runs a hand across the brunette's face, feeling for life.

"So my dear daughter did manage to find love again," Cora says simply, alerting Emma to the vile woman's presence. The witch's expression is more annoyed than curious, more irritated than surprised. She stares at the interloping blonde woman with rage and hatred in her glittering dark eyes.

"She did," Emma answers sharply. "And she's coming home with me." As if to prove her point, she places herself over Regina, positioning herself between the brunette and her murderously psychotic mother.

"Not today, dear," Cora replies, lifting a hand. "Today, it seems that I will need to teach you the same lesson that I taught her." A fireball forms in her palm, and Emma feels a shock of fear go through as she realizes that she's about to be incinerated. She barely has time to think about all of her many regrets before she feels the ferocious heat of the fireball slam into her body.

It occurs to her a moment later that the fireball hadn't hurt a bit, though.

"What the hell?" she hears Cora growl. The woman looks down at her hands, confusion and anger peppering her expression.

Emma looks up and smirks. "Oops," she says with a triumphant smile growing on her face. "Apparently you forgot to pay your energy bills."

"Now is perhaps not the time for your terrible sense of humor, Miss Swan," Emma hears from beneath her. She looks down to see Regina's tired dark eyes gazing at her. They're bloodshot, but aware. Still, there's a kind of oddly wistful expression there, like Regina doesn't completely believe that this is actually happening, but is willing to play along simply because it's a wonderful dream.

Simply because the idea of being loved again is almost good enough.

"Sorry, couldn't help it," Emma shrugs, a hand sliding out to hold one of Regina's. She squeezes tightly "You about ready to head home."

"That'd be nice, dear."

"You're not going anywhere," Cora snaps, stepping towards them.

"Yes, we are," Emma answers defiantly. Then, seeing Cora about to open her mouth again, the blonde quickly cuts in and waves her hand impatiently. "I know, I know, this isn't over. Well until then, go to hell, won't you?"

And with that, she hauls Regina up, holding the former queen tight in her arms, as close against her chest as she possibly can. Then, closing her eyes, Emma pitches them both backwards, towards the mirror.

It's a ridiculous leap of faith.

One that can only work if the feelings shared between the two souls entering through the door are real.

They are.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I keep trying to bring this story to a conclusion, but it seems like these ladies have a few things to work out before they can let fate let them be happy. They don't seem to want to play nice with a quick and easy let's all just kiss and be happy kind of wrap-up. So you get this. Hope you like it anyway.

Slight warning - very mild sexual conduct herein.

Thanks so much for all the very kind words. Enjoy the read.

* * *

Consciousness returns slowly, like water dripping from a faucet that's been accidentally left on. Once it does, however, once the blonde sheriff finally comes to her senses enough to figure out where she is, she finds herself lying on the floor in the mayor's bedroom. Even more surprising than that is the fact that her arms are wrapped tightly around the still slumbering form of Regina Mills.

She takes a moment to look – really look - at the former mayor. Aside and apart from the bloody cuts and dark bruises that she can see littering Regina's body – even in the pale light of the full moon that is shining in through the open window – she sees exhaustion written clearly across the brunette's olive skin. It's clear to her that Regina hasn't been sleeping, likely hasn't been taking care of herself.

"Bet you've gone down a jean size, too," Emma mutters. Then she chuckles to herself because she's pretty sure that she's never actually seen Regina wear jeans. Only pants and skirts and dresses. Not even so much as a pair of sweats.

How weird is it, then, that she's fairly certain that she's seen Regina partially naked? In her dreams, anyway. Remembering the vivid images of her mouth upon Regina's (not to mention upon other parts of Regina's body), she finds that she feels a bit uncomfortable with this revelation, a bit like she's violated the woman lying in her arms without intending to. It's unsettling enough to make her shift herself ever so slightly away from Regina.

Which is, of course, what causes Regina to cry out in pain. That's when Emma notices the bright red streaks darkening the silk of the former mayor's light blue nightshirt. She remembers, then, watching Regina get thrown repeatedly into the mirror, which had caused the remaining shards of glass that had been there to cut into the brunette's back. Hence the blood running down her shredded skin.

"Regina," Emma whispers, sliding herself back close to the mayor again. Her voice is low and heavy. She feels as exhausted as Regina looks, and she wonders what it would feel like to do a nice undignified face right plant onto the pillow in her bedroom at the place she shares with…her mother.

Ugh.

Yeah, there will be time for all of that later.

First, she needs to ensure that the woman lying in her arms is all right. After all that has occurred tonight – both in her sleeping mind and in the actual waking flesh – right now what she needs is simply the calm of knowing that there will be a chance for her and Regina to figure all of this out tomorrow.

"Regina," she says again. "Open your eyes. Please?" She places a hand lightly against the brunette's cheek, patting it ever so slightly. She considers slapping, but then reminds herself that this woman – she who also goes by the rather intimidating title of the Evil Queen – likely could turn her into a frog if she so desired to. Not exactly something Emma would like to see happen. So instead, she likely pats and says again, "Regina. Come on. Open your eyes."

"No," the brunette groans. "Go away, Miss Swan."

Emma laughs at this, probably far more than is safe or sane. "Not going to happen, Madame Mayor. Not until you open your eyes and look at me."

"I refuse."

"Really?" Emma chuckles. She can hardly believe that the petulant woman in her arms is also the pain in the ass that had almost killed her not too long ago.

Honestly, none of this (and "this" encompasses much more than just the current moment) makes the least bit of sense to her, but perhaps what's even odder is that Emma finds that she's actually starting to adapt – and even become accustomed – to the bizarre nature of the life that she now leads.

Which means becoming accustomed to Regina and who she actually is.

Yeah, that might take a bit more time.

"Yes, really," Regina sighs. A moment later, though, in spite of her words, her dark eyes flicker open. They're pained and bloodshot, but aware. "Miss Swan," she says with the faintest bit of a smile. "Why the hell am I lying in your arms?"

"Well, if you really want to know, the magic mirror back at your old castle dropped us off here," Emma answers with a smirk. She's being intentionally flip, perhaps trying just a little to annoy Regina, but mostly, she's trying to make light of what is sure to become an uncomfortable and awkward situation for the both of them.

Because from little she'd gathered from listening to the conversation between Cora and Regina, the only way that the magic mirror could have done what it had done would be if there were actual deep emotional feelings involved.

"Always knew that mirror had issues," the brunette coughs, bringing Emma away from her thoughts. Regina tries to sit up, then, but stalls halfway, wincing in pain as the wounds on her back slide painfully against the nightshirt. "Fuck."

"Language, Your Majesty," Emma teases, far more amused than she should be by this whole situation. She should be appalled, shocked and surprised. She should be terrified and troubled. Thing is, she's all of that, but she's also intrigued and fascinated. None of this should be happening and yet it is.

The question is why.

It's a question she means to pose to Regina once the brunette has regained some of her bearings. For now, though, she just grins.

"Stop that," Regina snaps.

"Stop what?"

"That smile. It's obnoxious. And it annoys me."

"Heaven forbid I annoy you."

"I rather wish it would have. Would certainly have made my life easier."

"Mine, too," Emma agrees. "But we are where we are."

"Look at you getting philosophical," Regina quips.

"I blame it on all that time outside with the trees."

"Yes. Nature has a rather annoying habit of allowing you time to think."

"It does," Emma admits. Then, sliding a hand under Regina's elbow, she says, "Okay, you think you can try to sit up again?"

"Yes, of course," Regina answers, pure stubbornness roaring through her veins like fire. Gritting her teeth, she forces herself forward, wincing a bit as one of the cuts on her back splits, spilling blood down her anew. It takes everything she has not to swear again. Partially because yes, she's always believed profanity to be crass (and only reasonably acceptable in out of control situations), but also because she doesn't want to amuse Emma anymore than she already has.

Right now, she wants Emma to go the bloody hell away so that she can try to figure things out without the distraction of the blonde around. Perhaps then, she can find a way to work out the events of the evening in her mind. Maybe even convince herself that things had occurred differently than they had.

Because what had occurred – between the dreams and the damned Soul Door – is utterly preposterous. This isn't a storybook no matter what Henry might think. This is real life and in real life, the Evil Queen doesn't fall in love with the Savior.

And the Savior sure as hell doesn't reciprocate.

"Hey, easy," Emma suggests mildly, knowing damn well that Regina will ignore her completely. The brunette doesn't disappoint her; shoving roughly away from the sheriff and grappling to her feet, biting back a groan as she does so.

"Well that was certainly interesting," Regina comments once she's pushed herself up to standing straight. She tries to ignore the searing pain in her back, but she's only moderately successful at it, and she suspects with a sinking feeling that Emma is seeing right through the walls she's trying to put up.

"You think?" Emma answers almost lazily, a blonde eyebrow quirking upwards as she stands herself up as well. "Just a few short hours ago, I was back in your castle. Your castle in Fairytale Land or whatever the hell you guys call it."

"Indeed," the brunette responds, closing her eyes against a wave of nausea. She tries to play it off as simple exhaustion, and thankfully, it seems as though Emma – equally tired – is willing to buy it as such.

"And now I'm here. In your bedroom."

"You make it sound so tawdry," Regina smirks, and Emma finds herself oddly relieved to hear the teasing – if slightly biting - lilt in the older woman's voice. It's familiar, maybe even comfortable. Which, too, is very odd.

Emma sighs. "I'm honestly not trying to make it sound that way. At least, I don't think I am. I just…I don't know what I'm supposed to say here, Regina. This whole thing is…well, we pulled each other through mirrors."

"Not quite," Regina corrects. "You and your mother walked through one, and then you pulled the two of us through another. I mostly just…" she stops, her dark eyes drifting over to the now dormant and quiet mirror on the wall.

"You opened the door," Emma offers. "None of this works without that. None of this works without you…"

"Feeling. Yes, I remember," Regina murmurs, frowning a bit. She rather wishes she didn't because doing so brings a whole lot of emotions surging up to the surface, the vast majority of which she has no clue how to deal with.

After a moment of long nearly suffocating silence, Emma says softly, "Okay, well since you clearly don't want to talk about what happened, and I'm not in the mood to argue with you tonight, will you at least let me look at the cuts?"

"Hm?"

"On your back, Regina. You're still bleeding."

"Oh, right, the cuts. No need, dear. I'm fine." She turns to face Emma then, her face taking on a stony expression of indifference. When she speaks, she's using her most authoritative – and dismissive tone. "I thank you for your assistance tonight, Sheriff, but it's quite late and I'm quite tired. Besides, I'm sure you'd rather be back at your own home reuniting with your family."

Emma's mouth nearly falls open. It's an utterly undignified expression (even for her), but as tired and emotionally shot as she is, she's not able to prevent it.

"Seriously, Madame Mayor?"

"Did I say something wrong?" Regina queries, eyebrow lifted. She's trying to play innocent, but failing miserably at it, which just annoys Emma all the more.

"Look, I was about to let you totally walk on what happened tonight, but since you're going to play it this way, don't you think maybe we _should_ talk about the dreams? Or maybe the Soul Door whatever the hell that thing was?"

"No," Regina says firmly. "I don't think we should talk about it. I don't think we should talk about it ever. And frankly, Miss Swan, considering your past with relationships – as well as my own – I'm surprised you'd even consider wanting to. I think…I think we should just allow for the fact that something very unusual occurred this evening. Something beneficial for both of us."

"Accept it and move on," Emma translates, her voice taking on a rough throaty tone. She's already chastising herself for even starting to put herself out there.

Especially with this woman.

"Precisely."

"Right. Fine. Got it. Okay, you want to pretend nothing happened, who am I to stop you from that?"

"I'm glad we understand each other," Regina answers, and Emma wonders for a moment if she doesn't hear just the slightest bit of sadness in the older woman's voice. Sadness and perhaps disappointment? Interesting.

"I wouldn't go that far," Emma responds. "Okay, so here's the deal: you want me to leave, then I'll leave, but only if you let me check your back first."

"Miss Swan, I assure you that's not necessary."

"Uh huh. First, it's Emma. After what happened tonight – you know that thing that we're about to agree to never talk about - I think maybe – just maybe - you can drop the bullshit power plays. At least for tonight."

"And second?" Regina replies smoothly, her perfectly sculpted eyebrow lifting up as curiosity and amusement war with annoyance and irritation inside of her.

"Second, accept the deal."

"And if I don't? What will you do, Sheriff?"

Emma shrugs her shoulders. "I'm exhausted and I'm sure you have a very comfortable guest bedroom." She says this with a smirk and a wiggle of her eyebrows. It's not suggestive, just obnoxious. Intentionally so.

"I could always call the police…"

"You mean my father?" Emma smirks. "Somehow I don't think so."

"You're back now. That makes you the sheriff again. I assumed you knew that being that I've been addressing you as such for the last ten minutes."

"Anything but Emma right?" She shakes her head. "In any case, I think we can safely assume that you're not going to call me on me." In spite of herself, in spite of the awkward absurdity of this situation and in spite of her own insecurities, Emma finds herself grinning just a bit. It's funny, she thinks, how thin the line between pleasure and irritation has always been when dealing with Regina Mills. Almost all of their interactions have been antagonistic and charged, and if Emma is honest with herself, some of those encounters have been utterly exhilaration.

She's just starting to realize why, and perhaps it is this uncomfortable not exactly welcomed realization, which causes her smile to falter just a bit. Because honestly, Regina's right: her past relationships have all been nightmares. It's a lie and a joke to presume that she would be the more confident and assured one in any relationship. Especially one that included Regina Mills.

On the other hand, she has a pretty good idea that being involved with Regina would allow her to say for the first time ever that she's not the most screwed up and damaged partner in the relationship.

Ugh…relationship? She shakes her head, pushing all of that away. It's as preposterous as the rest of the night has been. Somewhere, there has to be a line on just how many ridiculous things can occur in one evening. Has to be.

Regina growls in frustration, the sound an enticing echoing rumble that seems to bounce off of every wall in the bedroom. "Yes, I suppose not. Fine. You can check my back, but then you leave. Do we have an understanding, Sheriff?"

"We do. Drop your shirt."

Regina scowls at that. "Always the romantic aren't you?"

"I didn't know this was romance."

"It's not."

"Of course not. Shirt off."

Regina sighs. "I'll uh…need you to turn around."

For the briefest of moments, Emma finds herself shocked at the idea that Regina could actually be shy and body-conscious. This is a woman who has brought entire kingdoms to their knees thanks to her brazen sexuality. Yes, she hides behind designer power suits now, but that hasn't changed who she is.

Thankfully, before Emma can manage to stammer out these words, she takes a moment to actually look at Regina. And then she understands. As small smile forms on her lips as she says, " You're not wearing a bra I take it?"

Regina's eyebrow arches. "No. I tend not to wear one to bed."

"Who does?"

"Everyone on television," Regina mutters darkly.

"Right. Well since I want to look at your back, how about _you_ turn around."

"Fine, but if you try anything…"

"Really, Regina? Come on. I know this is weird and uncomfortable – for both of us, I might add – but don't act like I'm a crazy sex fiend who is just looking for an opening to jump your bones. It frankly doesn't suit who you really are."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Regina demands, a hand flying down to her hip, her elbow bending. The posture is threatening, demanding. It seems to be trying to tell the blonde sheriff that she's on very thin ice.

Story of my life, Emma thinks to herself before responding with a chuckle, "Well you are the Evil Queen. I've heard all about you."

"Yes, I suppose you have," Regina says, suddenly sounding very tired. "I'm sure your mother has told you everything that Henry's book didn't."

"Not everything, but enough," Emma admits. Her voice softens as she speaks, almost as if she's sensed the delicate and almost painful nature of this moment. There's a queasy heaviness to it that rolls her stomach just a bit. Like the weight of the world has just suddenly crashed down through the ceiling and there's nothing she can do to relieve the staggering suffocating pressure. "The books don't tell the whole story," she offers up, wondering how lame her words sound.

"No, they don't," comes the almost inaudible response. She looks up and sees Regina looking at her own reflection in the mirror, almost like she's looking to find someone different there. Maybe someone she doesn't hate so much. It's a thundering revelation for Emma. A realization of just how lonely and hurt the woman she has always considered to be her nemesis really is.

"Don't pity me, dear," Regina says suddenly, the tone sharp. "I neither want it nor need it. The stories may not explain the hows and whys of what has happened, but once enough time has passed, those hardly matter anymore anyway."

"They matter to me. And it wasn't pity. Or sympathy. Maybe it was empathy."

"You are the Savior," Regina sighs.

"Meaning?"

"Nothing. Everything. Can we get on with this?"

Frustration peppering her tone, Emma nods. "Absolutely. Your shirt?"

Slowly, Regina reaches up and unbuttons the light blue top. On another night, perhaps without all of the awkwardness hanging over them, the move might be mildly erotic, but right now, with Emma's eyes fixed on several ugly lines of maroon splattered down the length of silk shirt, it's decidedly un-sexual.

The former queen slowly brings the top down, stopping it about half way. She holds it to her arms with bent elbows. It'd probably be better for her to just drop the shirt completely, but once again, she seems oddly shy, almost like she's unwilling to surrender the illusion of decency and humility. "Well?" Regina says then, her voice stuttering just a bit. "How does it look?"

"Not good," Emma admits as she squints at the torn up flesh she sees. It seems wrong to her that such wonderfully olive skin should be so badly marred by blood and wounds. "You've got a lot of glass in you. Some of it looks pretty deep."

"Wonderful."

"What? No spells to yank out all of the shards?"

Regina smiles humorlessly at that. "None that come to mind, but even if I did have one, I'm…I'm trying not to use magic. For Henry." She seems almost uncomfortable when she says this, like it's the stupidest thing in the world.

"Oh," is all Emma answers. She chooses not to tell Regina that she kind of understands. She has the feeling that the brunette wouldn't take kindly to stories about the alcoholics and drug addicts that have come in and out – mostly out – of her life over the past twenty-eight years. Something tells her that Regina isn't the kind of woman to willingly identify with those who have struggled with addiction.

Even if she very clearly _is_ someone struggling.

"Are you able remove the glass yourself, Sheriff?"

"Do we really have a choice in the matter?" Emma queries, raising a hand to lightly touch at the feverishly hot skin of Regina's back. She tries to ignore the sharp inhalation of breath she both hears and feels from the former mayor. Tries to assume it for a reaction of pain instead of anything more.

"Not so much, I'm afraid. I don't think anyone at the hospital would be willing to assist me," Regina answers wryly. "Without you forcing them to, anyway."

"Whale still pissed at you?"

Regina flares a bit at that, which causes one of the cuts on her back to split open and spill out again. She winces in response, but then grits out. "He hardly has the right to be, but yes, I'm sure he is still…pissed at me."

Emma snorts at that.

"Really, Miss Swan?" there's a heavy note of exasperation in her voice.

"Sorry, I just…you rarely curse."

"And yet you've heard me do it twice this evening. Considering you'll be the one digging around in my back for the next hour or so, you might want to start keeping a running count if that's all it takes to amuse you."

"Your sarcasm is duly noted."

"That'd be a first."

"Uh huh. Okay, I need…."

"The first aide kit is in the bathroom next to Henry's room. There's another one downstairs, but the one up here is more…comprehensive."

"I bet it is," Emma says with a soft smile. Then, gently, "You miss him?"

"More than I ever thought humanly possible." She turns her head then, meeting Emma's tired eyes with her own dark ones. "Miss Swan, whether or not I wish to speak of it – and I don't - I know that there's something very odd happening here tonight, but before you say anything else, before you allow yourself to get further caught up in the emotions you're feeling right now, I ask that you please don't make me any promises that you can't keep. Not about Henry. Please."

"I won't."

"Thank you. Now you might want to hurry up and go get that first aide kit."

"Why's that?"

"Just…I don't..."

Emma's brow furrows and a frown slides over her face. She reaches out and lightly lays a hand upon Regina's bare shoulder. She's intimately aware of the personal invasion of the motion, but warning bells are suddenly going off inside of her, and a tiny voice in the back of her head – the voice that always used to tell her when someone was about to run – is screaming at her that something very bad is about to happen. "Regina…."

"I think maybe I need to lie down," the brunette says softly, her face suddenly having gone almost completely white. "Right…now would be…good."

And then quite suddenly, the former queen is falling.

The last thing she feels is Emma catching her.

Again.

* * *

The blonde woman that everyone seems to want to call the Savior (she's not getting any more comfortable with the title no matter how much time passes) works slowly, methodically and carefully. She's exhausted and weary, but she stays intensely focused on the task at hand. It's ridiculously tedious, the same basic movements over and over. Dig, pull, wipe. Start again.

She drops another jagged shard into a small Dixie cup that she'd found in the bathroom. Probably meant to be used for mouthwash instead of bloody glass.

She licks her lips, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and goes back to it, eyes narrowed as she fights to extract a stubbornly imbedded curved shard. She scrapes, wiggles, frowns and goes at it again, her concentration absolute.

Until a soft groan distracts her. She looks down and smiles, watching as the brunette woman lying just below her begins to come to her senses. That she thinks Regina looks beautiful sound asleep is a secret she plans to keep.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, Madame Mayor," Emma offers. She's sitting next to Regina on the bed, her long legs folded beneath her. Regina, for her part, is lying flat on her belly, the older woman's bare back exposed.

"Did I…fall?" Regina asks as she turns her head slightly. She winces a bit at both the harsh bedroom lights – necessary, Emma thinks, in order to properly see well enough to remove the glass – and the pain she can feel in her back.

"No, you passed out," Emma corrects. "Don't worry, you didn't hit the ground."

"Oh. Apologies…I don't know what happened."

"You're worn out. It's okay. Gave me time to get all of the glass out without you bitching about it," Emma answers with a tired smile. Fatigue has made her blinks slower, and caused her words to take on ever so slight sleepy drawl.

"And is it out? All of it?"

"Almost. Just a couple more pieces and we're done. Lucky for us, very few of the cuts were deep. No stitches needed."

"Lucky," Regina repeats, then drops her face back down to her pillow. It's soft and silky, a creature comfort that tries to lure her back towards the rest that she so desperately needs right now. She finds her eyelids drooping again.

What pulls her away from this, though, is the feel of Emma's hands suddenly on her bare flesh. They're shockingly warm and surprisingly soft and quite in spite of herself, the brunette finds herself moaning at the contact.

She's only glad that she can't see Emma's face right now because she can well imagine the look in the blonde's green eyes.

Or maybe she can't.

She just knows that she if could pull the sound back, she would.

Thankfully, Emma says nothing. Instead, she just keeps working, gently digging into flesh with tweezers as she tries to dislodge yet another shard of glass. She whispers a few calming nonsensical words, but otherwise, stays focused.

Until the last piece of glass is out.

And then she says, "So how was it for you?" There's a lazy hint of teasing in the tone, enough so that Regina can't miss the implication, but no so heavy that it could become weird or lecherous. It's a gentle lob across the net, that's all.

Regina just groans in response, far too tired to return serve.

"Sorry, couldn't help it," Emma chuckles. "I get kind of…I need sleep."

"Then go," Regina answers. The words are said softly, not a demand but a gentle almost compassionate urging. "Or if you're too tired for the trip, you can take the guest room if you'd like. I certainly owe you that much at least."

"Thank you," Emma answers. "And I think I'll take you up on that. As soon as I get some disinfectant on these wounds." She frowns then. "Actually, there wasn't any in the first aide kit. At least that I saw."

"I make my own," Regina tells her. "This world isn't like the one I came from, but it still has a few familiar things in it. Ingredients mostly." She lifts up a well muscled arm and indicates towards the bathroom. "Top of the medicine cabinet, there's a bottle of green paste. Collect it and smear it across my back."

"Collect and smear. Got it."

Emma stands up, wincing a bit as her sleepy legs protest loudly. She shakes them out, waits for feeling to begrudgingly return, and then makes her way into the master suite bathroom. It's glorious, of course, but she pays it little mind (beyond glancing at the wonderfully large and spacious shower). Instead, she resolutely makes her way over to the medicine cabinet, and extracts from it a circular container of what looks to her like puke green facial spread. She unscrews the top, takes a sniff and pulls back.

"Smells awful," she says as she re-enters the bedroom. It occurs to her as she makes her way over to the bed that Regina is still lying quite flat, almost as if she's trying to hide her bare chest from curious eyes. For a moment, Emma actually considers reminding the brunette that she hadn't gotten into the bed by herself, but then quickly dismisses the idea as crass and uncalled for.

"Not all of the ingredients are ones that you'd like to think about," Regina admits with a lazy slightly indulgent smile. It's a joke that only she knows. Considering the smell of the paste, Emma's willing to let her keep it the punch line as well.

"Lovely," Emma sighs. She drops back down to the bed, then slips her fingers into the container. The paste is thick and sticky and seems to get even darker when rubbed together. After a look of disgust, she leans over and begins to rub it across the damaged olive skin of the former queen. "This might hurt."

"Hardly," Regina sighs, her eyelids fluttering. "It feels wonderful."

"It does?"

"Not only is it a healing agent, but it also contains ingredients that effectively assist in painkilling," the brunette explains, her voice muffled by the pillow. "Right now, I'm feeling no discomfort at all."

"Really? And all ingredients from this world?"

"Indeed."

"Learn something new every day."

"Mm. Keep rubbing, Miss Swan."

Emma's eyebrow lifts at that. Not just the words, but the tone of voice. Low, rumbling, content. And yes, deeply almost wantonly sexual.

The thought – the idea, really - comes out of nowhere. One moment, she's leaning above the nearly purring form of the former queen, green sludge staining her fingers (and she has to admit, those fingers are suddenly very warm feeling), the next, she's bent over the same women, her lips pressing against the mayor's damaged flesh, a light almost non existent kiss being laid against the hot skin.

And Regina sighs.

It just spurs Emma on, even with all the bells going off in her head. Even with everything telling her to slow down and think this over. This is madness, her brain screams at her. This makes no sense. You're tired and exhausted and stop.

Stop.

She doesn't.

Instead, hands ever so lightly against Regina's back, careful not to touch any of the wounds, she kisses a gentle wet trail across feverish skin. She halts for a brief moment when she reaches Regina's shoulder, but then, hearing no protest from the completely relaxed brunette lying beneath her, she continues on and pushes her lips against tight muscle. With a quick flick of her tongue, she tastes salt and sweat and a hint of something wonderfully spicy.

"Tell me," she whispers into Regina's ear as she lifts her mouth up to lightly graze her teeth over the older woman's right lobe. "Does this miracle paste of yours also have sexual side effects?"

Regina chuckles, and the bed rumbles beneath the pure almost feline like satisfaction of the sound. "No, my dear," she answers, her voice low and throaty and clearly wonderfully aroused. "You're just horny."

"Me?"

"Well you are the one feeling up an injured woman."

"Would the injured woman like me to stop?" Emma asks, her voice suddenly very heavy. As if to further up the stakes, she runs her tongue over Regina's earlobe again, and then once more adds teeth, this time allowing for a scrape or two.

And damned if she doesn't love the moan she gets in response.

"I'll take that as a no," she replies, then lowers her mouth down and presses it ever so softly against the back of Regina's neck. One of her hands slides its way around the front of the older woman, coming up to lightly palm a breast. The moan she hears this time is absolutely guttural, deep and throaty.

A moment later, Regina – she with the many cuts in her back – is turning towards Emma and reaching for her, an absolutely ravenous expression on her face. Her soft hands slide over the sheriff's face, cupping it for a moment before she leans in and presses her lips against the blonde's. She doesn't waste time with gentle, almost immediately goes for passionate and hard. Fierce and ferocious.

Like she's trying to stake a claim.

Emma feels a thousand little explosions in her brain, tiny fireworks going off all at the same time. Certainly, she's been kissed before – and kissed very well, but there's something different about this. It's core, elemental. Deep within her.

And it's utterly completely wrong.

Which Regina seems to understand just a few seconds after Emma's fogged over brain officially shuts down all logical thought processes. She feels the absence of the lips, of the connection before the rest of her realizes that Regina has pulled away. She finds it funny that she misses the hands almost more than she does the kiss, and wonders idly what that means.

"It's a no," the former queen says, her voice so terribly painfully soft. "I don't want you to stop, which means you should."

"I don't understand," Emma finally manages. "I don't understand any of this."

"Nor I," Regina admits. "And we can't be certain that this isn't some kind of manipulation. Which means we should both just walk away."

"You think someone is making us do this?" Emma asks, and suddenly she's feeling quite exposed even though she's not the one missing a shirt. Even after the weeks spent in the old world, she doesn't know a lot about what magic can and can't do. She doesn't know if it can really force an attraction out of hatred.

She fears that it can.

"No," Regina says flatly, eyes skittering towards the mirror. As if feeling the same sudden discomfort that Emma is, she pulls a sheet up and around her bare chest. "The Soul Mirror that we both walked through…to get to each other…it can't be manipulated. It can't be…altered."

"So we do feel something for each other then." It's a statement not a question.

"Yes." She seems unwilling to say more.

"More than just…" Emma waves her hands around the room.

"Lust?" Regina supplies with a somewhat amused quirk of her eyebrow.

"Yeah, that."

"Yes, more than just that," Regina admits, once more appearing unwilling to supply further answers.

"What aren't you telling me?" Emma presses. "Is there a reason besides lust that we were just…doing what we were doing?"

"I don't know," the brunette replies her tone becoming sharper and more frustrated. "And honestly, I'm the last person in the world to talk about deeper feelings. I damned an entire land of storybook characters to Maine because of my feelings. I may not be exactly healthy in how I express them."

"Yeah, probably not," Emma concedes. "You know what, we said a couple hours ago that this had been a long night. It's just gotten longer and I'm sure neither one of us is thinking straight anymore. How about I go home and we both sleep this off and we see what it all looks like in the harsh light of day?"

"That was almost poetic," Regina muses.

"I'm not an idiot," Emma offers with a shrug.

"I never thought you were."

"You always acted like you did."

"I act like a lot of things." There's a quiet resigned sadness in the way she says this, like she knows that so much of her life has been spent performing for the sake of others. Putting on a show, even a self-destructive one.

Regina's dark eyes flicker upwards then, for a moment losing themselves within the greens of the blonde sitting across from her. Her hand lifts up, and suddenly Emma once again feels the heat and calm of fingers lightly grazing her cheek.

"I don't understand," Emma says once more.

Regina simply nods, then leans in and once again presses her lips against the blonde's, tasting her, savoring the slightly chapped texture. She closes her eyes and allows emotion and feeling to wash over her like fire, cleansing her.

She fights back tears.

And then she pulls away, "Go home, Emma."

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** This one turned out longer than I had expected it to, probably shoulda chopped it in half, but ultimately, it all fit the narrative drive of the chapter. For those concerned that I'll drag this out or create too much yo-yoing, don't be. I should be able to conclude this story - assuming my muse behaves himself -on the next outing.

Mild warning for this section - there be some sexual contact within. Also a wee bit of salty language.

Enjoy, and thank you so much for the comments already received.

* * *

As it turns out, the harsh light of day doesn't actually bring with it much needed clarity. Instead, it showers doubts and worries as well as fears and self-loathing upon the brunette head of the former mayor of Storybrooke, Maine. Hardly new for her, of course, but just for once, Regina Mills would certainly welcome it if the world were to treat her with kind kid gloves instead of gruff calloused hands.

Just for once, it'd be really nice if something could be simple and easy.

She stands in the kitchen of her massive empty mansion, looking out the window, watching as the sun timidly peaks its way up over the horizon. It's quite early still, and most of the inhabitants of this town are sure to still be dozing soundly in their beds, content in their sleep if not their lives. She feels the slightest pang of guilt at this, but quickly swipes it away. These people never cared for her, never tried to help her in any way, why should she spend time crying for them?

She moves to her side, reaching for her coffee cup, and despite her best efforts, she can't quite contain the small whimper of pain that bubbles up and past her lips. Her back still hurts terribly, even with all the first aide supplied just hours earlier. Typically, her healing paste is supposed to be applied to the damaged skin three to five times a day. Unfortunately, with the injury being where it is, such care seems unlikely to occur. Especially without someone else to assist.

Specifically someone named Emma Swan.

The name – and the memories that are associated with it – comes to her quickly, almost like a soothing breath of warm air across her cheek. In spite of her mild irritation at this, she allows her exhausted eyes to flutter closed as she remembers the feel of the blonde's hands on her back, the touch shockingly gentle and kind. She remembers soft kisses along her bruised and torn flesh, each one a point of scorching heat, each one a lip-shaped imprint of calm serenity. Perhaps even of forgiveness.

And then, because Regina Mills' personal curse is to never allow herself to just be happy – even if only for a few sacred seconds - she remembers Emma leaving, the heavy front door closing loudly behind her, the damning sound echoing uncomfortably in the enormity of the nearly empty mansion.

That she had requested the blonde to do so is hardly relevant. True, her logical mind can't blame Emma for having departed before things had gone too far in a direction that neither one of them could turn back from, but deep in the wounded and shattered part of Regina's fractured and abused psyche, it all equates to the same thing: she has been abandoned once again.

She grunts in disgust at this.

It's almost unbearable to allow for the idea of being hurt by Emma Swan walking away from her for any reason. She should be celebrating her departure, not mourning it like a lovesick teenager. That damned woman is at the root of her destruction. At least here in Storybrooke. Had Emma and her silly red jacket never come to town, things would have continued as they were. Life – the life she'd chosen and painstakingly built – would have simply gone on as planned.

Quiet. Peaceful. Serene.

No, she realizes, that's not quite right. More like boring, colorless and empty.

Without passion.

Without happy endings for anyone. Including herself.

It's not lost on her – has never been lost on her – that despite her desperate fury inspired quest to steal away everyone's happing ending so as to secure her own, she'd only succeeded in turning everything just a little bit colder and just a little bit sadder. She'd simply made all of the people of the old world just a little bit more like herself. Lonely, lost and broken. Oddly, there's not a lot of victory in that.

Sure, for twenty-eight long years, she'd been in control, but even Regina knows the truth of this, and it's a truth that she's been trying to bury deep within herself almost since the beginning; her control has always been a mirage. She's always been just a player in a game far bigger than herself. Always just a puppet. A graceful intimidating one for sure, but still, just a puppet dancing along on strings.

She remembers telling Emma such – though not in those words, of course. She remembers confessing to much of her attitude being a well constructed mask. A deliberate show of faux strength. A presentation made shiny and pretty.

Lies, all lies.

She's become quite the master of them over the years.

She lifts the cup of coffee to her mouth, sips from it absently, her mind barely allowing for a moment of pleasure at the nearly perfect taste of the steaming hot liquid. Her eyes track up towards her ruined apple tree. The fruit there has gone bad ever since she'd stopped indulging in the dark arts. Apparently, starting magic anew only to go cold turkey had damaged more than just _her_ soul.

Sadness grips her at this. It's deep and poignant and for a moment she thinks she might actually break down in tears. She admonishes herself for this, tells herself that it would be ridiculous to cry for a tree. She knows it's more than that, though. It's not just the tree, it's the loss of everything that the tree had ever meant to her. There's a reason she's carried it across lands and worlds.

Deep down, her brilliant beautiful apple tree had always stood for hope.

Now, eyes locked upon its blackened corrupted fruit, she realizes that despite what had occurred between she and Emma just a little bit earlier in the morning (it's been maybe two hours since Emma had left, time that has passed without sleep having come to her), she's all out of hope.

Somewhere deep in the house, a phone rings. She glances over at the cordless on the wall, notices that it's silent, and realizes with a cold shock that the ring is coming from her study. Which means that it's the line previously used for mayoral business. Her jaw clenches, but she makes no move to go towards the phone.

That life, like many others, is behind her. It's more than a little unsettling to realize that once again, she has to sweep up the shattered pieces of her existence, examine the pile for salvageable shards (there are never any), and then throw the rest (all of them) out so as to presumably start anew.

Problem is, there are no more new beginnings for the Evil Queen. This was the last of them, her last chance to try to start over. She blinks back tears, tells herself that the waterworks are because of the now screeching pain in her back.

She tells herself that she will not cry for the past and that she will not weep for the future that she doesn't have. She'll just continue on. It's what she does.

After almost a dozen shrill rings, the phone finally stops ringing. She allows for a moment of curiosity before quickly crushing it beneath her anger; the call had probably been from some idiot threatening her, promising her certain death.

She's received at least twenty calls exactly like that already. Some of them have been graphic, descriptive in ways that would give her nightmares if not for the fact that she has imagined far worse punishments for herself already. Some of the calls are just cruel and taunting, a reminder of all that she's already lost.

And some are just silent, the sound of breathing signifying life if not purpose.

Not that she would tell anyone.

She wants pity from no one.

Her hands shaking terribly now, she finishes up the coffee, places the cup in the sink, then turns and exits the kitchen. It's time to begin the day. Sure, Henry's not around to prep for school, and there's no work to get to and now that Emma and Snow are home, there's no research to busy herself with, but still, she has her pride and right now, her pride is demanding that she be presentable.

It demands that she put on her best mask.

So she does.

* * *

It's almost two in the afternoon before Emma Swan finally wakes up. It's a slow and heavy process, and though the sleep received is deeply appreciated, she finds that she's just as tired. This is more muscular than it is mental, however.

Right now, she aches.

Not shocking considering the events of the last several weeks.

With a reluctant sigh, Emma pushes herself up and groans, the sound echoing deep within her chest. She looks down at herself, sees that she's wearing the same clothes that she'd thrown on after the shower the previous evening (or perhaps it had occurred much earlier that morning, she's not terribly sure). The clothes she'd put on just before she'd headed over to Regina's mansion.

Oh, Regina.

The images slam into her brain with surprising intensity. She sees hands and mouths and skin and well really, it's enough to make even Emma blush a brilliant shade of red. Which is utterly ridiculous because she's far from virginal or innocent. She's had her share of lovers, both ones that she cared about in some way or another as well as ones that had never bothered to get the names of.

Regina is certainly the former as opposed to the latter.

"Emma?" she hears. She looks up and sees Snow standing in the doorway. Her eyes are tired, but she's smiling, the look vaguely shy and uncertain. "I didn't mean to just barge in but…you're awake." She finishes the sentence with a brightening grin, her eyes twinkling in an almost melodic way.

Which totally jives when you realize that your mom is Snow White.

"I think so," Emma chuckles, running a hand through her messy hair. "We're home, yeah? This isn't part of some weird mirror induced dream, right?"

"Well, I don't see Regina in your bed so I'm thinking no," Snow answers. The tone is somewhat wry, but there's more to it. It's a probing question, a slight fishing expedition. One where it's clear that Snow is desperately hoping that the line she's thrown will come up empty and without a catch.

"Uh, Regina's never been in my bed," Emma reminds her, all the while hoping that the bright red flush from just a few seconds ago hasn't reappeared.

"Just in your dreams," Snow presses.

Emma groans at that before finally replying with a muttered, "It's complicated."

"Everything about Regina is complicated," Charming comments as he enters. He slips a muscular arm around Snow's waist and tightly hugs her to his torso, all while taking a moment to drop a gentle kiss onto her neck. Snow allows for a chuckle, and perhaps even a bit of a blush up her cheeks. It's cute, Emma thinks, all the way until she remembers that these two people are now her parents.

And then her expression changes to one of disgust.

"Really?" Snow laughs.

"I just…yeah, sorry."

"What? What'd I miss?" Charming asks, brow rising in confusion.

"She's uncomfortable with us kissing," Snow teases.

"I'm not," Emma insists. "I'm just…you know what, I could use some coffee."

"And I'm happy to make you a cup. As soon as you answer my question, "Snow counters. "What happened last night when you went back to Regina's place?"

"You didn't actually ask that particular question before," Emma corrects, glancing down at her feet. She's moderately surprised that she'd been aware enough to remove her shoes and socks before doing a likely face plant onto her pillow. It's weird, she thinks, that she doesn't actually remember anything after closing the door behind her as she'd walked away from Regina's mansion. She doesn't remember the drive home or the thoughts she'd had. She certainly doesn't remember walking into the loft or dropping into an exhausted heap onto the bed.

Apparently, though, she'd done all of those things.

Including the walking away from Regina.

She frowns at this thought and the darkening emotions it stirs within her. She recalls telling the former mayor that come morning, they'd try to figure all of this out. She had thought that maybe with a little light, everything would make more sense. Instead, she finds that it makes less.

"Emma?" Snow prompts. "What happened? All I remember is us going through the mirror. But Regina didn't come back with us, did she?"

"No, she didn't. She was stuck on the other side with her mother," Emma answers after a moment and a bit more fidgeting. "I helped her get back over."

"How?" Charming queries, his concerned expression deepening.

"I don't know."

"You really are the worst liar," Snow says. "Regina came through a mirror. For you to get to her, it stands to reason that you would have had to do the same."

"It's a magic mirror," Emma hedges.

"Seems to me that if Regina had had a magic mirror the whole time, she wouldn't have locked herself away in her house looking for ways to bring you two home," Charming tells his daughter, a small thoughtful smile upon his lips. "Besides, I'm not aware of any mirrors that can act as a portal between worlds."

"I am," Snow corrects. "They're called Soul Doors."

Emma winces at that.

"But you already know that don't you?" Snow asks. When Emma doesn't reply, the brunette woman shakes her head. "Oh, Emma. No…"

"You know, that's the second time you've said that to me in the last twelve hours. The 'oh Emma' part, I mean. I kind of wish you'd stop." She shrugs her shoulders. "I mean I'm just as confused about all of this as you guys are. I don't understand it. I don't understand…"

She stops abruptly, shaking her head. It's never been her way to discuss her feelings with anyone. Sure, she's never really had anyone willing to listen, but just the same, she's not comfortable with opening up like this.

Even to her parents. Maybe especially to her parents.

"You know, for whatever it matters, Regina is not who she was. I'm not saying I trust her but…" Charming says softly, suddenly, his brilliant blue eyes locked on Emma. It's a vaguely unsettling gaze, but not exactly uncomfortable. "…so much has happened since you two were pulled into the hat. We've all…this town, everyone, we've all been through a lot. She's been through a lot."

"She's not capable of change," Snow insists. She sounds like she's trying to convince herself of this, trying to hold on to old emotions that are safe.

"You'd be surprised," is all her husband says. "But none of that matters right at this very moment, I think. All that does is the Soul Door thing. What is it?"

"You don't know?" Emma queries, unable to hide her surprise.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I spent most of my life as a shepherd. I knew of magic, but it meant nothing to me. It wasn't until I met your mother that I started to really understand it, but there's still much that I have no clue about." He looks over at his face, tracking the conflicted emotions racing through her eyes.

This isn't easy for her, whatever she's about to say, that much is clear to him.

"Soul Doors are old magic," Snow explains after a few moments. She slips a hand into Charming's, smiling a bit when he squeezes it. "The kind that becomes more myth than reality after hundreds of years. Legend claims that they exist as a way to connect damaged souls together. They create bridges between lands – apparently worlds, too – so that lovers can make their way home to each other."

"But she's not my lover," Emma insists. "She's my enemy."

"An enemy who willingly took on her worst fear to save you," Snow comments, her mouth suddenly very dry as her mind tries to keep up with the staggering implications of the events of the last twelve hours. As a child, things like Soul Doors had been convenient details within her imaginative stories of true love. Merely plot contrivances meant to explain how the impossible could occur.

As an adult, she'd completely forgot about the existence of them. There'd been no need of them between she and Charming. Sure, they've had struggle and more separations than any couple ever should, but their souls had never been what one could reasonably call damaged.

Certainly not like Regina's.

And though it pains her deeply to admit, certainly not like Emma's, either.

"I know," Emma says softly. "But…I don't know how to explain this, but the mirror, it made it share these dreams. And in the dreams, it kind of felt like something was pushing us. It felt like…like we were being controlled. Maybe we were."

"That doesn't explain why you raced out of here this morning like your hair was on fire to go save her," Charming points out.

"It's what I'm supposed to do," Emma answers weakly. "I'm the Savior, right?" Everyone told me to embrace my destiny. Well I did."

"Doing so wouldn't have made the mirror work," Snow tells her. "Wanting to save her wouldn't have mattered unless you felt something deeper, something pure. The Soul Door wouldn't have worked without that. But it did work, didn't it?"

Emma doesn't answer. No one needs her to.

"So what now?" Snow asks finally.

"Hell if I know. I was hoping morning would make things make more sense."

"Rarely does," Charming inserts.

"And if I know Regina," Snow tells her, "By now she's found a way to rationalize her way around what happened between you two. She's closed down."

"You almost sound like you're rooting for me to go after her," Emma suggests.

"Hardly. She's the very last person in the world I want you to have feelings for."

"But?"

"The heart chooses who the heart chooses."

"My heart is not choosing her," Emma insists with an impatient wave of her hand and a hardening of her jaw. This is all getting so very intense and uncomfortable for her. "It's not choosing anyone no matter what your…Soul Door thinks."

"Okay, but here's the thing, Emma, you were gone until almost four in the morning," Charming notes. "You left here around midnight."

"So?"

"It took you four hours to bring her back?"

Emma frowns at that. "No," she finally admits.

"What else happened between you two?" Snow pushes. She steps away from Charming, then reaches out and lays a hand gently on Emma's forearm. After all they've been through together, she can't stand any kind of rift between them.

"You know what? I think I preferred when you didn't want to know."

"So did I."

"So why don't we go back to that."

"Because something happened to you last night. And whether you want to admit it or not, it's important to you. Something about Regina is important to you. And you're my daughter, you're our daughter, and we care. Talk to us. Please."

"She was hurt," Emma finally admits. "Her mother tore her back up pretty good. I just…I tried to help…make it hurt less."

"And did you?"

"No, I think I made it hurt worse."

"You're not talking about her back, I assume," Snow notes.

"I wish I were."

There's a long moment of uncomfortable silence, the two women both looking at each other, trying to read emotions and thoughts. Finally, Charming says, "You need to talk to her, Emma. You two need to figure this thing out."

"What's to figure out?" Emma laughs, the sound bitter. "Fine, there's something between us, but neither one of us has any business starting anything."

"You want to start something?" Snow queries, brow rising. This is getting so much more uncomfortable by the moment, but dammit if she isn't trying. She wants to be there for her daughter, wants to be someone who can still be confided in, still be turned to. This is hard, though. Harder than she imagined.

She wants Emma happy.

How could that ever be with Regina?

The woman is cold, cruel and incapable of love. Right?

No, apparently not right. Clearly, she feels something for Emma, too. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to walk through the mirror any more than Emma would have been able to.

It's all very troubling. She knows that she should stomp this down immediately, say whatever she needs to say to convince Emma to run away from the insanity of this. What would be the harm of such? They're all home now, and Regina – according to Charming – isn't much of a threat to anyone these days due to her desire to win back Henry. It would be so very simple to feed into Emma's fears and doubts here. It wouldn't take much at all to convince her blonde daughter to step away from the edge that Regina represents.

And yet, she can't do it.

God, how she wishes she could.

"No," Emma says. "I…I don't know. I need to think. Before I talk to her, I need to figure this out in my own head. I don't want to piss her off enough to end up making her curse this whole town back to the Dark Ages."

"Good idea," Snow nods. "And I'm…I'm here to listen. We both are."

"I appreciate that, but…I think this is something I have to figure out on my own."

"It doesn't have to be."

"I think it does. You guys have history. Even if you want to, you can't just put away what she's done to you and how you feel. It's not fair to ask you to."

"We just want you happy."

"Me, too," Emma answers. And then, rallying herself up, "And right now, what would make me happy is seeing Henry."

* * *

It's late that evening, well after Henry is in bed when Emma finally picks up her cell. She goes to the contacts list, her eyes zeroing in Regina's name. There are two numbers listed, one for the mayor's office (she's been told that Regina hasn't yet discontinued the line) and another for her personal line. For a long moment, she holds her hand above the touchscreen, and then she sighs and clicks her nail against the former mayors' name, choosing to first try the business line.

The line rings and rings and rings. Apparently, though the line remains live, Regina has removed the answering machine from it. Interesting.

She dials the personal line next. After about four rings, the answering machine finally snaps on, playing a crisp and curt message from the former mayor. Emma waits until it's over and then says softly, "Hey, it's me. Look, I know I said we'd talk about what happened and we will. It's just…I need time, Regina. I need to figure all of this out. I need…I don't know what I need. I don't. I'm sorry."

She waits for a moment, as if expecting Regina to suddenly come on the line. A silly thought, really. This isn't like other awkward romances that she's had. This isn't some uncomfortable dance being played out by two uncertain lovers.

This is the Evil Queen and the Savior.

This is madness.

Emma hangs up.

* * *

It's been almost a week since Snow and Emma were brought home. The how of it has been purposefully muddled, half-truths delivered for mass consumption. No one would understand the truth anyway. They wouldn't even try to.

Over the last week, there have been parties and celebrations and more hugs than Emma cares to think about. It's nice to feel welcomed and wanted for once in her life, but honestly, the blonde sheriff finds herself ready to return to the normal of the town treating her with somewhat respectful indifference.

Problem is, that's not going to happen. She's the daughter of Snow and Charming, the creation of True Love personified. It's kind of creepy, actually, but she doesn't say this to anyone. She just smiles and nods and plays the part.

All the while waiting for people to leave her the hell alone.

Thankfully, by day seven, folks are beginning to realize that their own lives haven't stopped just because she and Snow have returned. All of which means that finally, she's free to really return to her job as sheriff. Sure, there's a ton of cleanup (her father isn't quite the natural law enforcement officer that he might think himself to be), and more paperwork than she cares to think about, but there's also a calm familiarity to the position. There's a normalcy to it.

Of course, with normalcy comes time to think.

Time to realize that it's been seven days since the events with the mirror.

Seven days since she'd left the message on Regina's voicemail. Seven days since anyone has seen or heard from the former mayor. She hasn't even reached out to Henry. Not so much as a call out or even a text.

Emma is starting to worry.

She knows that she should have gone to check on Regina, but she's kept her distance, stayed away to give them both time to come to terms with what had occurred between them. She assumes – hopes - that Regina needs the time as much as she does. She herself has gone through a rather varied and interesting laundry list of emotions so she can well imagine that the volatile and mercurial former mayor is also struggling with the emotional upheaval of it all.

Over the last week, Emma's tinkered with denial and doubt, played a rather vicious game of handball with fear and anger and finally, after a sleepless night spent staring up at the popcorn ceiling (she's been sleeping in the living room, allowing Henry to continue staying in her bedroom until a different living arrangement can be decided on), she'd settled on acceptance.

There _is_ something going on between she and Regina.

Maybe there always has been.

What it is, she doesn't yet know, but perhaps it's time to have the conversation.

"You don't think she'd hurt herself do you?" a voice asks. It takes Emma a long moment to realize that she's been having this internal conversation with herself on the couch that she normally sleeps upon. Right now, however, Henry is sitting next to her, the TV in front of them showing the two of them one of the afternoon cartoons. It's an insipid thing, but it makes them both laugh.

Like mother like son.

Weird how that realization sends jolts of both joy and pain through her.

The first time she'd realized this – just a few minutes earlier – she'd asked Henry if Regina had ever watched cartoons with him. The boy had shrugged his small shoulders and said, "For a little while, but I could tell she didn't like them much." A strange look had flittered past his face when he'd said this, but then the character on the TV had done something idiotic and he'd been giggling again.

That had been what had pushed her into the thoughts about Regina, the thoughts about how long it'd been since anyone had heard from her.

The understanding that the time for her and Regina to talk had finally come.

"What?" Emma answers in reply to Henry's question.

"She's never been very good at taking care of herself," her son tells her, and Emma thinks that she sees deep concern lurking in his eyes. Sometimes, it's hard to remember that he's so terribly young because his soul is so very old. "She doesn't get sick often," he continues, "But when she does, she refuses to rest. She believes she can make herself better just by thinking she is better."

"Of course she does," Emma chuckles. She lays a hand on his shoulder. "Henry, do you miss her?" It's probably an unfair question for a boy of his age, but she's curious where his head is, and doesn't really know how else to ask him.

He thinks for a moment, and then nods his head. "I guess I do. I know shouldn't, but I do." He seems almost embarrassed about the revelation.

"Why shouldn't you miss her?"

"Because she's the Evil Queen."

"Was. She hasn't been that for a very long time. Now she's just…your mom."

"She did horrible things."

"Yes, she did, but what's done is done. Hating her won't change that. Refusing to love her even when you do won't change it, either."

"You want me to forgive her." He says this quietly, almost dully, but she senses something else below the tone, something childish and young.

"No, baby," she tells him (somewhat amazed by how easily the term of endearment flows from her lips), gently turning his shoulder so that he's facing her completely. "I don't want to force you into anything. But what I do want is for you to think about the ten years before I came along. Before you received the book. Were they all bad? Isn't there anything good that you remember?"

He thinks about this for a moment, then nods his head. "When I was eight, she bought me a Wii for my birthday. I asked her to play with me. She said no the first fifteen times and then finally gave in." He puts his hands on his hips and mimics Regina's voice, "Just one game., Henry, and then to bed with you." He smiles then, caught in the memory. "We were up until three playing."

"Was she any good?"

He laughs. "She was terrible, but she kept trying until her hands cramped up."

Emma nods her head at this. "Your mom has done some awful things, kid, and she pays for those things every day. I think she always will. None of that changes the fact that she loves you. And if you have taught me anything, it's that love is enough to change anyone. It's enough to make anyone a better person. Right?"

"Even the Evil Queen?"

"I think maybe especially the Evil Queen."

He tilts his head then, thoughtful for a moment before he says with a slight frown, "Are you telling me all of this because of whatever happened with you and mom and the Soul Door?"

"Have you been eavesdropping on me again?" she asks with a smile. She knows she should come down on him for this, but she also knows doing so won't stop him. He's a curious boy. Perhaps too curious for his own good.

"Kind of," he shrugs. "I was washing my hands when I heard you and gramps talking about it when you were _trying_ to make spaghetti the other night."

"It wasn't that bad," Emma tells him, cringing a bit as she says it because yeah, she and Charming really shouldn't be allowed near a kitchen.

"Yes, it was," Henry tells her with a grin. Then, changing the subject back, "So what's a Soul Door?"

"It's how your mom and I got each other home, and it's complicated, but no, it's not why I'm talking to you about her. I just…I don't like that you haven't seen her in over a week. I don't like that she's been alone for that long."

"Twelve days total. Five days before you came home and seven since."

"So it's been bothering you, too, then, huh, kid?"

"It's not like her," he admits. "She never used to let me out of her sight for more than a couple hours. Even after you and grandma went through the hat, she would call over here twice a day. Until twelve days ago. Gramps told me that she was focused on finding a way for you guys to get home. But now you are and…"

"Yeah."

He repeats his question from earlier, "You don't think she's hurt herself, do you?"

"I'm sure she's fine," Emma tells him automatically, suddenly hoping that Snow is wrong about her being a dreadful liar. By the way he tilts his head, though, she's pretty sure that her mom had been dead on right about that. Well, shit.

"Emma…"

She stands up from the couch. "I'm going to drop you off with Red, okay?"

"I don't need a babysitter," he declares with an indignant grunt.

She chuckles in. "You're not as old as you think you are, kid. Now I'll drop you off at the diner, and then I'll go check in on your mom. I bet she's just working on something and has lost track of time."

"Working on what? She doesn't have a job anymore and I'm here."

Sometimes she wishes the kid wasn't so damned perceptive. She smiles in response. "I'm sure she's fine," she tells him again.

"And if she's not?"

"I'll take care of her," Emma promises. "Don't worry."

He beams up at her then. "I don't. I have faith in you. You're the Savior."

"Even of Evil Queens?" She's teasing him, but deep down, is honestly curious.

He laughs and then throws her previous reply right back at her (she honestly should have expected as much), "Maybe especially of Evil Queens."

* * *

It's almost six at night by the time she makes her way to the former mayor's house. She knows that there's been conversation about stripping the mansion away from her, but thankfully, both Charming and Snow have stamped down on such discussion with a degree of vigor.

There's no room for petty vengeance, they've told people. Not anymore. It's time to move forward and move on. It's time to let go of all the hatred.

Easier said than done.

Of course, thanks to Regina's sudden absence, it _has_ been easier.

Not that anyone could ever forget her, but the fact that she hasn't made an appearance in close to two weeks has helped calm the nerves of some of the more violence prone individuals around town. Idiots like Whale.

Emma makes her way up the steps and knocks loudly. As she waits, her eyes skitter around, taking in the surroundings. The Mercedes is parked on the driveway, leaves cluttering around the wheels of it. The lawns and hedges are unkempt and in desperate need of upkeep. A rosebush to the side is blooming out of control, many of its flowers far past the point of picking.

She frowns at all of this, realizing that it means that Regina has likely not stepped outside of her mansion in over a week.

She slams her fist against the door, this time much harder. "Regina!" When there's no answer, she looks down at the lock. Just a week ago, she'd kicked it in so as to get up to the former mayor's room. It's been repaired since then, but the work is amateurish, thereby suggesting that a professional hadn't done it.

Most likely, Regina had been the one to repair the lock.

Emma knocks once more, then leans down and with practiced hands, picks the lock with ease. She'd considered kicking it in again, but decided on the less violent approach. Regina isn't trapped in another world with her psychotic mother this time. She doesn't need immediate saving. Right?

"Regina?" she calls out as she enters. The place looks clean enough, but for some reason, this doesn't actually settle her nerves. "Regina!" She moves through the foyer, glances into the kitchen, then makes her way towards the study. The door to it is open, hanging just a little bit ajar. She looks in.

And stops.

For there she is, the former mayor in all of her glory. Only there's absolutely nothing glorious about the blacked out woman lying slumped across her couch, an arm thrown over her eyes. The other arm hangs down over the couch, fingers grazing the edge of a heavy crystal tumbler. Emma notices with a jolt of sadness that Regina is dressed in slacks and a nice shirt, like she's on her way to work.

Only there's no work to get to.

No goal to grab at.

Just isolation and silence. Better to destroy yourself with.

"Regina," she whispers, dropping down next to her. She reaches forward and touches the brunette's face, relieved to feel the heat coming up from her. And then, just as she starts to move back, she smells the alcohol that seems to be emanating from every pore of the older woman's body. Thick, cloying and oppressive. "Oh God, I don't even want to know how much you've had to drink," Emma mutters to herself. "But I think you need a cold shower."

This always seems to work out better in the movies and on TV. There, carrying someone up the stairs and into a bathroom doesn't take a nearly Herculean effort. No one on TV ever complains about dragging along a nearly dead weight all the while desperately trying not to bang them against anything.

Still, she manages. It takes her longer than she would like, but finally, Emma manages to step into the master bedroom's huge shower with the former mayor. She takes a deep breath, wraps an arm tightly around the still unconscious woman's entirely too thin frame, and then snaps on the water. And immediately growls because when the water comes on in an unbelievably hard spray, it's goddamned cold as ice.

"What the hell?" Regina gasps suddenly, eyes blinking as the cold penetrates her senses and rips her back to the world of the living.

"Good of you to come around, Madame Mayor," Emma quips as she sputters through the water. She lifts a hand up to clear wet hair away from her eyes, then, after a brief moment of thought, does the same to Regina, sweeping dark overly long strands away from the brunette's forehead.

"Miss Swan?" Regina asks. There's a strange kind of amazement to the tone and it occurs to Emma then just how very hammered the former mayor really is. Apparently enough so that the ice cold water spraying down on the both of them really isn't doing its job as well as Emma would have liked it to. It's weird, but in the space of three seconds, Regina's gone from shocked to be awoken by cold water to purring like a seductive lioness looking for a mate.

It's a realization which gets slammed home a moment later when Regina's suddenly pushing her up against the back wall of the walk in shower (it truly is an amazing shower, Emma has time to muse). "I've been waiting for you," Regina grins. The look is vaguely predatory. "I knew you'd come back."

"Did you?" Emma asks, struggling just a bit. She doesn't want to put too much effort into it, though. It's wet and it would be so very easy for one of them to slip and end up falling through sheets of glass and metal. Which would be an absolutely perfect end to this evening for the both of them.

"Of course, dear, I knew you wouldn't be able to resist me," Regina answers, her voice silky and low. She leans in then and presses her mouth to Emma's, lips smashing hard against each other. Emma barely has the ability to grunt in surprise before the brunette is going even further, shoving her tongue in as well.

It's not a terribly enjoyable kiss, unfortunately. Regina is too sloppily aggressive and uncoordinated and it feels kind of like she's trying to bob for tonsils. Still, she's surprisingly strong like this, and for fear of hurting the brunette woman, Emma doesn't do much besides try to gently push her away.

At least not until Regina pulls away from lip to lip contact and moves her mouth down to Emma's neck, roughly sucking at pulse point.

"Jesus," Emma grunts, a flat hand settling on Regina's shoulder. She tries to shove a bit, tries to push Regina away, but really, she's wasting her time

"Your Majesty is just fine, Sheriff," Regina purrs before licking a stream of cold water away from Emma's throat. "Mm, you are delicious."

"Yeah, that's great. This shouldn't be happening."

"Oh relax, Miss Swan, I'm not your boss anymore," the former mayor laughs, the sound oddly high and unsettling. "There's no conflict of interest here."

"Yeah, because that's what's inappropriate about what's happening right now," Emma comments, wincing a bit as she feels Regina begin to move further down her body. She's not one bit surprised when she feels a hand settle over her right breast a moment later. The touch is rough and controlling, but that doesn't stop the unfortunate jolt of energy that tears its way through her body.

Nor does it stop her nipples from hardening up.

"You like that," Regina grins, her narrowed eyes settling upon the blonde sheriff's chest with what Emma can only describe as being a high degree of intense hunger. "Mm, look at that, the sheriff likes to be handled." The tone is wicked, and the laugh that follows is just a little bit cold.

"Uh huh. Regina, how much did you drink?" Emma demands, her teeth grit.

"Enough to fuck you into tomorrow."

"Oh that's…that's wonderful," Emma manages to gasp out between sharp winces as Regina's hand begins to tweak and pinch, skilled fingers somehow still managing to surface despite the brunette woman's severe intoxication. "Remind me to tell you that you said once you're sober again. Oh my God…."

Her brain almost literally shorts out when she feels Regina replace her hand with her mouth, soft wet lips settling over the soggy material covering her breast. The contact is heated and urgent, and for a moment, all Emma sees is stars.

It's the hand sliding down her stomach and then beneath the waist of her soaking wet jeans that brings her back to the here and now.

"Regina," she says sharply, hands once again settling on the woman's shoulders. She gives her a shake, but the brunette doesn't seem to notice, her hand still moving, skipping roughly over the wet material of Emma's boy shorts.

Oddly enough, it's the way Emma suddenly jumps back and away when Regina's hand slides down into the shorts, her fingers tracing – for just the briefest of moments - against super heated and suddenly very slick flesh, that breaks up the moment. In a moment, the brunette turns from being a drunken seductress to looking like frightened and uncertain woman on the edge of sanity. She looks at Emma, sudden confusion in turbulent dark eyes. Icy water drips down her face.

"Emma?" she says, her deep voice trembling with fear and confusion.

And then for the second time in a week, she collapses into the blonde's arms.

* * *

Regina's sleeping now. The healing, but not quite healed injuries on her back have been dressed and she's been reclothed in her normal pajamas, and settled back into her bed. Emma knows that the former mayor will wake at some point, the alcohol she's ingested overwhelming her system until she voids it. Hopefully, though, that won't come for a few hours yet. Regina needs rest desperately, this much is clear. As Henry had stated, his mother is not very good at taking care of herself. She hasn't been eating or sleeping. Or really, living at all, it seems.

Emma walks around the house, the heels of her boots clicking loudly against the floor. She studies all of the pictures on the walls, the vast majority of them being of Henry at different stages in his life. There are a few of mother and son together, but it's clear that for Regina, it's Henry that matters.

She makes her way into the study, and starts to tidy it. She glances down at the phone, seeing the answering machine that has been disconnected. Curious, she heads into the kitchen. She sees that that machine, too, has been pulled out.

She wonders if her message was the last one received.

She turns on the machine, and hits the play button.

And hears her own voice.

* * *

It's the sound of violent retching that brings Emma up the stairs. She sees Regina bent over the toilet, on her knees. It's an undignified position for her, but Emma simply sweeps behind the former mayor. "I've got you," she tells as she pulls hair away from the brunette's mouth. "It's okay. You're okay."

"You have a funny idea of okay, Miss Swan," Regina states before she bends over again.

"I have a funny idea of a lot of things," Emma chuckles. "Doesn't make me wrong."

Regina's only acknowledgment of her statement is a slight sideways glance, and then she's pitching forward again.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Regina asks quietly, once Emma helps her back into the bed. Her voice is raspy and hoarse, like she's been screaming.

No, just throwing up everything inside of her. That's all.

"I thought it was time," Emma tells her from her position on the side of the bed. Her hand is absently rubbing out patternless circles on the brunette's back.

"Time for what, dear?"

"Us to figure this thing out. There's something going on between us, Regina, and maybe I want to know what it is."

"Oh," is all the brunette answers before digging her face into the pillow.

Emma watches for a moment and then moves to stand. "I'll let you sleep," she says. "We can talk in the morning."

"Don't go," she hears suddenly, and for a moment, she's quite sure she heard wrong.

"What?"

"I don't want to be alone. Please…don't make me beg."

Emma feels ice settle hard in her gut at just the thought of Regina having to beg anyone for this. No one should ever have to beg to not be alone. "I…I didn't mean to make you…I don't...you want me to stay?"

"Yes." Dark pained eyes lift to meet hers and she thinks to herself that if she doesn't move quickly, the woman lying on the bed will break into too many pieces to put back together again. This willingness to suddenly reach out for simple human contact is partially alcohol driven, she knows, but this is also the exhaustion of too much sadness and too much pain. This is decades of loneliness finally overwhelming her.

Everyone has a breaking point.

Even Evil Queens.

Perhaps especially Evil Queens.

"I'm here," Emma tells her and then lowering herself back down, she slides herself behind Regina's body. She hesitates for only the briefest of moments before reaching forward and sliding her strong arms around the former mayor. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

She feels rather than hears Regina accept her words.

And then all there is the serenity of sleep.

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **We have finally reached the end of this crazy little tale. I hope you enjoyed the ride, and that the conclusion satisfies. I thank you for all of your kind words along the way.

Word of warning - there's some salty language and sexual situations within (semi-graphic).

Enjoy, and please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts. Again, thank you.

* * *

By the third time that she's woken up by an elbow in her stomach or a heel to the shin, Emma Swan knows that it's going to be a very long night indeed.

As it turns out, the former mayor doesn't sleep calmly or peacefully even with warm arms wrapped around her disturbingly frail form. Instead, her wounded body twitches and shakes and she makes sounds that alternate from whimpers to outright cries. Every now and again, she gives voice to a desperate plea.

The worst of it, though, is that sometimes, the former queen apologizes and begs for forgiveness in a whispered frightened tone. From whom isn't clear, but there's a childlike desperation to her voice, a shuddering kind of almost frantic urgency.

Not a bit shocking considering all the terrible things that Regina has done and all that Emma has learned about the brunette's troubled upbringing, but the blonde finds herself horrified all the same. She finds herself heartbroken and unable to offer much beyond a tightening of her arms and a soft kiss to overheated skin.

Whether Regina feels the kisses (and there have been many during this long night, all of them chaste), Emma doesn't know. She likes to think that somehow, subconsciously, her former nemesis derives comfort from the simple empathetic human contact, maybe even feels the warmth somewhere down deep.

During the few times when the tossing and turning becomes almost violent and trying to shake the former queen awake fails miserably (Regina comes to for the briefest of moments before passing out again and dropping almost immediately back into the nightmare she'd been momentarily pulled away from) Emma tries whispering words of calm and reassurance into the older woman's ear. She tries telling her that everything is okay now, that everything is going to be just fine.

And then Regina shatters all of that bravado (because in truth, Emma is far from certain that everything will work out here) by calling out for her – by saying her name. It's uttered as a softly whispered, "Emma," and immediately after the word has left Regina's dry cracked lips, Emma feels her heart shatter into a thousand shards, every one of them just as sharp as the ones that had pierced the delicate skin on Regina's back almost a week earlier thanks to the magic mirror.

She sees tears shimmering brightly on the brunette's cheeks, the skin there thin and slightly yellowed by lack of a proper diet, and in those terrible heartbreaking moments, Emma considers jumping from the bed. Though it makes her a coward even to consider doing so, she thinks about running back home to the apartment that she shares with her family. No one – least of all Regina, perhaps – would be surprised if she did do it. It's what she does; it's what she has always done.

Instead, in a feat of courage far beyond that which is required to fight a fire-breathing dragon, the blonde reaches down, and pulls the blankets tighter around their bodies, trying to provide each of them with much needed heat and comfort.

Emma tries to tell herself that she's staying because of the promise she'd made to Regina before the inebriated woman had succumbed to exhaustion. She reminds herself that she'd assured the brunette that she wouldn't be going anywhere. She hates breaking promises. That's all this, she insists to herself.

It's a lie, though, and she knows it. She's here because she wants to be. She's holding this fractured woman in her arms because she wants to. Not leaving Regina to wake up alone? Well that's part promise, part desire and part need.

Which probably explains why the one time Emma does have to leave Regina in the bed alone – to deal with the sudden urgent need to pee – she leaves the door to the bathroom hanging wide open. She chuckles a bit as she does so because she's pretty damned sure that hung-over or otherwise, had Regina seen this, the older woman would have made some smartass comment about the lack of class the sheriff had shown in not properly securing the door behind her.

In the end, though, Emma doesn't care about things like class and decency.

She cares about the promise she'd made.

That it's such more than that, well that's for later, when they can talk and try to work through all of the craziness of the curse and the portal and Soul Door.

For now, a promise is good enough to make her crawl back into the bed.

* * *

It's the damned clock that's keeping her awake now. It's a stunning piece of work, expensive and regal, exquisitely hand-carved. The massive numerals on its shiny silver face are majestic and awe-inspiring. That is until the hands move.

Each one with a maddening click.

Probably barely audible to most people, but Emma's heard every minute pass for the last two hours. As the hour hand slaps against the curved number three, Emma opens her weary eyes and stares at the clock, once again relieved at the lack of a chime, but wondering how the hell anyone – especially someone as fussy as Regina - can sleep with the clicking of minutes and hours as they pass.

Then again, until she'd strolled into town, time hadn't passed at all so Emma wonders if maybe it really hadn't been too much of a problem.

The clock clicks eliciting a sigh (probably louder than the clock itself) from the restless blonde. It's a bit funny how it seems like every time she's around Regina these days, there are long nights involved. Nights that seem to stretch for days.

It's only three in the morning.

Wow.

On the upside, Regina has finally gone mostly still. It seems as though – at last - exhaustion has caught up with her completely and she's been pitched into a state where her body is merely recharging, incapable of doing much of anything else.

That's a mercy, Emma thinks. There's only so many times you can relive the same nightmare, only so many ways to cry over the sins you've committed.

Moving ever so slightly (and trying to ignore a sudden spot of tightness in her hip – an injury probably incurred during their brief semi-sexual wrestling match in the shower), Emma laces her right leg slightly around Regina's legs. She knows that she's taking liberties that she's not entitled to, but suddenly, she's struck by the need to be as close to the former mayor as possible. She can't explain the urgent desire to protect the older woman; she just knows that it's there.

The minute hand moves with a click.

Emma closes her eyes, and prays for the same exhaustion that has swept Regina into the world of sleepless dreams to come take her away as well.

It's almost five in the morning before it finally does.

* * *

The first thing that Regina Mills becomes aware of once consciousness returns to her is the feeling of a heavy bladder. Movement forward in the bed brings on three new revelations – first, it's incredibly dark in the bedroom. A glance over at the window shows that the heavy blinds have been pulled. Second, her head is pounding like someone is trying to actively break into her skull with a sledgehammer. She's suddenly intensely thankful for – and to – whomever had pulled the drapes because she's quite certain that had they not, her brain would be melting right about now from a combination of sunlight and intense pain.

It's the final revelation that really works its way through her, however. It's the realization that she's not alone in her warm and comfortable bed. Instead, there's someone resting behind her, their arms wrapped loosely around Regina's midsection. There's a leg slung over hers, the contact vaguely possessive.

A moment later, as her senses truly return to her, Regina realizes that there's even more physical contact than that occurring. There's a hand resting lightly against the bare skin of her abdomen, fingers splayed out against her skin.

A glance at the hand – at the fingers – and she knows exactly who is holding her.

"Emma," she whispers, her voice throaty and thick. It's still strange to call the blonde sheriff by her given name. Not at all safe for either of them from an emotion standpoint. But then, perhaps once you've shared several erotic dreams - and spooned - with a person, worrying about safe is already out the window.

On the other hand, Regina thinks with a frown and a pained wince, what in the hell is Emma doing here? And why are they spooning at all?

It's the wince (and the continuous jackhammering in her skull) that probably explains everything. She can vaguely recall another night spent drinking alone, another evening spent trying to drive herself into unconsciousness so as not to think about the emptiness around and within her. Everything after that is a series of hazy flashes and…well, honestly right now there is nothing more than that.

Apparently, though, at some point or another, Emma Swan had once again come to the rescue. Regina knows that despite the benefit of it, she would be annoyed by this constant White Knight routine if she could muster the energy for such.

Slowly, ever so carefully sliding away from the deeply slumbering sheriff (she looks absolutely exhausted, Regina notes with a surprisingly sharp pang of guilt) she pushes herself from the bed, biting back on a harsh groan as she does so.

Her headache increases with each movement, and for half a second, she really does think that she's about to either throw up or pass out again. She bends over then, hands on her knees, eyes tightly shut against the obscene pressure radiating through her skull. Doing so causes the wounds on her back to stretch a bit, but those she can tolerate. Those are nothing compared to this…headache.

She stills her movements almost completely and waits, sucking in massive gasps of air all the while. Finally, after almost a minute of time has slipped past her (which the clicking of the clock on the wall spells out in annoying fashion – how has she never noticed that before, she wonders), her legs solidify beneath her. A few more deep breaths and she's able to straighten up completely. She looks at her reflection in the mirror – the one that she had walked through a week earlier.

She wants to laugh – or cry – at what she sees. The woman she there is neither the regal queen nor the icy mayor. She's not the innocent girl from years earlier, either. This woman looks small and broken. She looks defeated.

And yet curiously enough, this woman is not alone.

She turns back to look at the bed, to study the sleeping blonde lying there. She notices that the clothes Emma has on are not her own; they're actually Regina's.

Odd, and perhaps a bit frightening. She wonders if something had occurred between she and the sheriff, wonders if they'd gone from drifting touches to something more. After a moment, though, she shakes her head at this. Even in her exhausted and tortured state of mind, Regina understands the basics of good and evil. There are things that people like Emma Swan do not do, and taking advantage of a woman who is clearly beyond consent is one of those things.

What the blonde is wearing - silk pajamas – seals the deal. They loudly suggest the absence of any kind of sexual action. Surely, Regina muses as she gazes at the sleeping woman, Emma Swan isn't the type to get modest post-coital. This is, after all, the same woman who months earlier had answered the door of her hotel room wearing little more than a tank and panties. Shyness doesn't really suit her.

Weird, Regina thinks then, how much she finds herself enjoying watching the blonde sleep, how much she enjoys the flashes of skin that she keeps seeing get exposed every time the sheriff turns in the sheets. She'd love to dismiss it as an after-effect of the mirror adventure, but even she knows that it's more than that.

Thankfully, the pounding in her head is intent on not allowing her to think much at all right about now. And really, that's okay with her. Deep thinking has never been a salve for her, has never brought her much beyond more pain and misery.

Why indulge in such torments now?

As quietly as she can manage, Regina slips into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her, wincing a bit at the sound the lock makes as it engages. Even that is too loud for her soggy brain right about now.

She turns towards the massive walk-in shower, and that's when she sees the wet clothes scattered all along the floor of the bathroom. That's when she sees Emma's hideous red jacket lying over the sink, unfortunately not ruined by water.

She tries to remember, tries to squeeze her eyes shut to do so, but nothing comes to her. In fact, it isn't until she's standing under the cold water as it warms that she begins to see flashes of the night before. Apparently, despite Emma's best efforts, a few rather interesting things had happened between them.

And right now, she's seeing those things in sharp colorful flashes.

Flashes of her hands on Emma, fingers sliding across sinfully pale skin. She can almost feel her mouth following her hands, tasting salt and sweat and just a hint of something spicy and perhaps even a bit sultry. Like a hidden secret.

As these images assault her brain and her body causing her to shiver in reaction, she realizes with a bit of shock that what had happened between she and Emma in this room hadn't been a dream pushed into her mind thanks to a Soul Door.

What she doesn't know is how far the action with the sheriff had gone. That little memory seems to not be in her mind no matter how hard she searches for it.

Still, the pajamas that both she and Emma had been in suggest that perhaps the activities within the glass walls of the shower had stayed relatively…well certainly not chaste, but perhaps not quite indecent, either.

That's a good thing, she tells herself.

Now if she could only convince herself of that.

An hour later, she's still trying. And still failing.

* * *

Emma wakes up to find herself sprawled gracelessly across the massive king-sized bed, a hand and foot resting in each corner of the incredibly comfortable mattress. It's utterly undignified position and yet it's so damned comfortable that she can't find the care to regret the ownership she's taken of the bed she's in.

That is until her brain reminds her that it isn't actually her own bed that she's in.

"Regina," she mutters before rolling herself over on the mattress. Sure enough, the former mayor is nowhere to be seen. The door to the bathroom is standing slightly open, but it's clear that there's no one in there. A soft scented mist hangs in the air, mostly dissipated, but suggestive of a shower in the recent past.

Funny, she thinks to herself with a sigh and a roll of her eyes. This isn't really how she'd expected things to go down. She hadn't figured on being the one to wake up alone. But then maybe, considering the fact that Regina just might be more of a runner than even she is, perhaps she should have expected it.

Emma pushes herself up from the mattress with a groan, her sore hip protesting the change of position. She lifts her shirt up and examines the darkening bruise there. A quick rub of it with her fingers, and she decides that there's nothing wrong with her hip that an ice pack followed up by a heating pad won't help.

She makes her way out of the room and down the stairs. It's when she's halfway down that she smells cinnamon and bacon. She hears the sound of grease popping and can hear the soft shuffle of metal as a frying pan is moved.

She enters the kitchen and for a moment, just stands back and watches the woman in front of the grill move. For a former queen, Regina seems oddly at ease in here, almost calm and at peace. She moves quickly and efficiently, but there's a weird kind of grace to the way she works. It's a dance that she's mastered a thousand times over, a poem that she can recite without thinking.

"Are you hungry, Miss Swan?" Regina says suddenly, pulling Emma from her admittedly indulgent thoughts. She blushes a bit, almost as if she's been caught doing something that she shouldn't be doing. Thankfully, Regina's back is to her.

"A bit," Emma nods, amazed at the roughness of her voice. To her own ears, it sounds like she's a two pack a day smoker. "How long have you been up?"

"Long enough to shower, do a load of laundry and start breakfast."

"So awhile then."

A shrug of the shoulders and then, "About twenty minutes or so."

"Really? Only twenty minutes?" Emma queries, suddenly feeling quite inferior to the woman at the grill. Not exactly a new feeling, but still an unsettling one.

Regina chuckles, a low sound that sends odd vibrations running up through Emma's body. "Give or take, dear. Closer to an hour actually."

Oh, well that's better, Emma thinks with a small grin. Then, the expression morphing into a slight frown, she asks, "Why didn't you wake me?"

Regina turns to face her, and for a moment, Emma is almost surprised by what she sees. The woman is sans makeup for once, and thanks to that, Emma can see the lines that exhaustion and weariness have dug into her still beautiful face.

"Are you okay?" Emma blurts out, almost before she can think about what she's saying. The lack of a filter, well it's pretty much plagued her all of her life.

Thankfully, Regina seems unperturbed by it. "I'm fine," she nods. "And I didn't wake you because you looked peaceful." She smiles then and Emma thinks to herself that it's a beautiful expression on the brunette woman. For once, not malicious, but genuinely amused. "Spread across my bed, corner to corner."

"You have a comfortable bed," Emma answers almost sheepishly.

"Yes, well, some creature comforts are better than others."

"You mean like alcohol?"

Ah, so the serious part of the conversation, then. Even Emma's not quite sure how she'd pulled off that switch without a serious case of whiplash occurring.

Regina sighs, the sound meant to suggest that this is a silly unnecessary conversation that she'll humor. "I may have gotten a bit carried away last night."

"May have?" You were blacked out on your couch when I came in."

"Broke in, I think is what you mean, Sheriff," the brunette answers as she turns back to face the grill. She slides a spatula beneath several pieces of bacon and moves them onto a plate that contains many more slivers of the wonderfully smelling meat. Just about enough to feed an army, Emma thinks to herself.

"I was worried," the blonde admits after several long uncomfortable seconds.

Regina flips off one of the burners, and turns back to face Emma. "Why?" Her expression is neutral, her face completely unreadable. It's more than a little unsettling to see how easily Regina can slide into this unaffected mode.

Especially when it's such a blatant lie.

"Because no one had heard from you in over a week. Even Henry. It's been over twelve days – by his count - since you've spoken to him."

"Ah, so you came over for Henry," Regina says, nodding her head at this like somehow this realization helps her to understand everything.

Emma groans. "Why do you do this?"

"Do what?"

"You know exactly what. Why are you making this difficult?"

Regina actually looks genuinely surprised by this, her back straightening up into a somewhat defensive posture. "I didn't realize that asking questions as to why you're here was making things difficult, Miss Swan. I…"

"Dammit, Regina, Emma," the blonde snaps. "You told me last night that you wanted to fuck me into tomorrow…"

"I did?" Regina asks, paling just a bit. She reaches out for a glass of some light green liquid that is sitting near her hand, and quickly takes two gulps of it. Emma wonders if the drink is alcoholic, but she's guessing that it's actually some kind of super healthy obnoxiously organic bad tasting hangover remedy.

"You did, and considering that and the fact that I held you all last night, I think maybe you can call me by the name I was given."

"I…uh…of course…"

"Are you embarrassed?" Emma asks suddenly, surprise peppering her tone.

"I don't remember…last night," Regina answers, looking down at her hands. She rubs them together as if to clean them, but the motion is unnecessary, more meant to distract her eyes than anything else. "I remember…I think…a few things, but…what…what did happen between us? Did I…"

"Fuck me into tomorrow?" Emma grins. She knows that she shouldn't be approaching this with such levity, but there's something so inherently ridiculous about all of this that it just about demands a degree of gallows' humor.

"Emma…"

Unfortunately, the worried and almost frightened look on Regina's face tells Emma that the brunette doesn't share her desire to laugh this situation off.

She steps towards Regina, coming to within a foot of the brunette woman. "No, relax…nothing happened. You were pretty well hammered and I wouldn't…I wouldn't do that. You know that, right?"

Suddenly it's crucially important to Emma – and she's not all that sure why – that Regina actually believe what she's saying. It suddenly means everything that Regina understands that she wouldn't harm the brunette woman in any way.

"I do," Regina nods, lifting up her dark eyes. She offers a slight smile of acknowledgement. It's awkward, but real. Emma feels relief rush through her.

"Good. Look, I…uh…I think maybe we have a lot to talk about, Regina. I think maybe it's time for us to talk about everything that's happened between us."

"Everything," Regina repeats thoughtfully, nodding her head as she realizes that she hadn't lost quite as much control as she'd feared. She tilts her head then, and in that moment, Emma realizes that the discomfort has shifted from queen to savior. "Tell me, dear, did you want me to?" she asks, her voice a rumbling purr.

"Want you to what?" Emma's playing intentionally dumb here, and they both know it, but honestly, she's not sure what to do with this conversation. It's both uncomfortable and absurdly erotic. It's unsettling and insanely arousing.

And the way it's spinning around, it's as confusing as their overall relationship is.

"Fuck you into tomorrow?" Regina presses, her lip quirking into a small smile. It's amazing, Emma thinks, how deliciously dirty Regina can make a simply curse word sound. From anyone else (including herself), it might sound crude and crass, but from the former mayor, it sounds like an invitation to sin most happily.

"Uh…"

"I see," Regina answers with a curt nod, and Emma gets the distinct impression that the brunette isn't quite sure what to make of the response she'd received. She almost looks upset. Perhaps even a bit embarrassed.

"Regina," she starts, not quite sure what she's about to ask or say. She just knows that she wants the look she sees on the former mayor's face to go away.

Regina cuts her off with a sharp almost dismissive shake of her head "Breakfast will be served in a moment, Sheriff. Why don't you set the table?"

"That's it? That's all we're going to say about last night?"

"For now."

"But just for now, right?" She reaches out and wraps a hand around Regina's right bicep, squeezing it just a little, all the while trying to ignore the surge of feeling and emotion that goes through her as fingers make contact with skin.

"For now," Regina repeats, her eyes drifting down to glance at Emma's hand on her arm. Finally, slipping away from the contact (weird, Emma thinks, how much she suddenly misses the connection), Regina then lifts a hand up and gestures towards the cabinets. "Plates are in that one there. On the left. You can choose whatever pattern you like. Just be careful; they look strong and resilient, but they're actually quite fragile and they break far easier than you might think."

It's the most on the nose metaphor that Emma has ever heard. It's also the most appropriate if not the most heartbreaking.

She considers pushing the metaphor, asking about how hard it would be to put the plate back together if it did break, but the words catch painfully in her throat. She's not a woman meant for poetry and subtly. If they're going to have this conversation, they're going to do so plainly and without mirrors and literature.

After breakfast maybe.

After the plates have been put safely away.

* * *

They eat breakfast in silence. Awkward, painful, and uncomfortable silence.

It's Emma who finally breaks things up. Of course. "Why didn't you call him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Henry."

Emma watches as the brunette seems to almost completely stiffen up, her posture going from Regina style relaxed (what most people would call tense) to something that would make a nun jealous. "What would I have said to him?"

"You love him? You miss him?"

"I've said all of those things a hundred times."

"Perhaps if you'd said them a thousand."

Regina tilts her head, her eyes hardening into dark coals. "Is this conversation about to become a referendum on my parenting skills?"

"No. It's a referendum on you," Emma answers, leaning forward.

"Fantastic," Regina bites off as she stands up and reaches for a plate. It takes everything she has not to snatch the one in front of Emma just so that she can throw it down again in disgust. Well, no one has ever accused her of being mature about how she handles her negative feelings.

"Regina, wait, please. Just…let me…let me say what I need to, okay?"

The brunette considers this for a moment, considers the fact that the sheriff has come to her aide repeatedly, and then nods. "Very well. You have two minutes."

"And then what?" Emma throws back. "You'll kick me and return to spending your days alone and your nights with a bottle of wine and your couch?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Swan, we can't all have been so lucky as to have found our long lost family and to have been welcomed home with hugs and kisses." She nearly spits the words out, her face reddening with anger as she says them.

"Do I need to remind you that the only reason they were long lost is because of you?" Emma queries quietly, her green eyes intense.

It's a body blow, and the force of it just about knocks Regina back into her seat.

"No," the brunette answers after a moment. "I suppose you don't."

"Then listen to me. You owe me that much at least."

Regina shifts a bit at this, her jaw grinding. "Fine. Speak."

Emma considers pushing her luck just a bit and getting in one last jibe, but the almost petulant expression on Regina's face convinces her to get on with it. She takes a deep breath and then says, "There's something between us."

"Henry."

"More than Henry, Regina. We both care deeply about him, we both love him, but he couldn't have made that door work like it did for us. Whatever is between us is just between us. It's just about us. You and me."

"You honestly believe we have feelings for each other?" There's a degree of disgust in her voice, like the idea of something so childish is outrageous to her.

"Yes."

"You? Of all people."

"Yes. And I think you know I'm right, but you've spent so much of your life refusing any kind of emotion that even smells like love. Even with Henry."

Regina leans forward and bares her teeth in response. "I love my son."

"I know, but you've never really known how to show him that. You figured wrapping your arms around him and keeping him close was all you had to do."

Regina fidgets at this, but doesn't actually contest the words. How can she even begin to? The fact that Emma Swan is even in her life at all is a testament to the words being spoken aloud. Henry had run from her because of her inability to truly show him how much she loved – and loves – him.

"Sometimes," Emma continues on, voice softening, "You have to say what you're thinking. And sometimes you have to actually show people what you feel."

"What's your point?" Regina demands. She feels the pounding in her head increase as her emotions start to rage through her. A tickle of dark magic purrs somewhere within her, asks for permission to come to the surface and play.

She denies it, focuses on the blonde, blinking back pain and hurt as she does so.

"My point is, right now, you want to deny that there is something going on between us. Something that actually means something. You want to do it because you don't know how to allow yourself to let go and just be happy."

"You really think you and I can ever be happy together?" Regina answers with a short sharp laugh. "Listen to yourself. We're enemies, Miss Swan."

"You might find safety in believing that, but you're wrong. We're not."

"Then what are we?"

"I guess that's up to you."

Regina shakes her head. "This is absolutely beyond absurd. You're no better at relationships than I am, Miss Swan. Perhaps, you're even worse."

"How's that?"

"I was married forty years ago. Since then I've had my share of…lovers, but I haven't so much as gone on a date with anyone. You on the other hand…"

"Have been in a relationship or two," Emma nods, biting back on the sudden urge to scream in frustration at the whole course of this conversation. It's all deflection and avoidance. All attempts by the brunette to push the sheriff away.

"And none of them ended well," Regina reminds her. "Which is why you have always run from commitment of any and every kind. It's why you tried to run away from Henry and this town. Tell me, why stop running now?"

"I'm tired of running." It's a simple answer, but for Emma, it says everything.

"So naturally I become the first project in your new staying around campaign?"

"Oh for fuck's sake, Regina," Emma growls. "Enough." And with that, she stands up, walks around the side of the table, and grabs the older woman by the shoulders, her fingers digging into the soft flesh she encounters. "Enough," she says again, right before she presses her lips to Regina's.

She hears a surprised grunt in response, and then suddenly Regina's opening up her lips in answer, parting them enough for Emma to press her tongue through.

It's soft and delicate and oddly exploratory. Especially for these two women.

It somehow feels right for them at this very weird moment in time.

When Emma finally steps back, she says with a smile that's attempting to be a smug smirk, "I had to shut you up." Her green eyes twinkle with just a bit of mischief as she says this. She looks pleased with herself, a bit like a cat.

"Not a bad way to do it," Regina admits, sounding a bit breathless.

"I'm glad we agree. Now can we try to figure this thing out? Please?"

"I'm not a talker, Emma. I'm never going to be someone good at sharing my feelings. At least not in a healthy way. So if that's what you want –"

"I'm not all much better than you are," Emma interrupts as she starts to move in again. "So maybe talking isn't how we go about figuring this out."

Regina slides a hand up, settling it flat against Emma's chest. "I need you to know who I am before we go any further. I'm a greedy and selfish woman who has done horrible things. I can be cruel and I can heartless. I have been and just because you think there's good in me, that doesn't actually mean that there is. You need to understand, when I'm hurt, I react badly. If you hurt me…"

"I won't."

"You can't promise me that. You of all people."

"Because I'm a runner?"

"Partially that, but mostly it's because of who you are. You're Snow's daughter and we hate each other. You might think that those feelings between she and I have nothing to do with you, but as you said earlier, I'm responsible for you having to find your family after so long. It's my fault that you grew up without one.

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. My parents made choices, too. They could have chosen to keep me with them. It doesn't really matter anymore. What's done is done. Maybe it's time for everyone to let go of their hate."

"You're too old for such naivety, dear."

"I'm also too old for petty bullshit. I want to be happy, Regina."

"Then you're looking at the wrong person."

"No, I'm not."

"Why are you so sure about this, Emma?" the brunette asks softly, her voice almost gentle, and oddly absent it's typical bite and snap. "Because a magic mirror told us that we have feelings for each other? If it hadn't, would you be here today? Would you have just kissed me if it hadn't brought us together?"

"I don't know," Emma admits. "I think I'd still be here." She shrugs her shoulder. "In case you didn't notice, I've been saving your ass for awhile now."

"An unfortunate habit of yours, I'm sure most of the town would agree." In spite of herself, Regina's smiling just a bit as she says this.

"Screw the town." She holds up her hand. "Wait, forget I said that."

Her only response to that is a smirk of amusement.

"Look, Regina, I don't know why the mirror decided that we were the two broken souls that it needed to bring together, but it did…"

"Do you love me?" Regina interrupts suddenly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Do you love me?"

"Honestly, I don't know, but I'm willing to find out." She lifts her chin up, her jaw setting in defiance and her green eyes gleaming with intent. She's just about daring Regina to follow suit, challenging her to take a chance.

"And if I'm not? If I'd prefer we not go down this road? What then?"

"I think that would be a mistake, but I'll respect your wishes."

"That would be a first."

"I want us to stop fighting. I want us to work together, not against each other."

"As do I, but there are better ways of accomplishing that then falling into bed with each other. Most people simply negotiate a truce."

Emma grins at that. "Well as you said, neither one of us is much for talking."

"True enough." And then as if to prove her point, the former mayor allows for her dark eyes to roam over the pajama-clad body of the sheriff. The clothes are too loose to provide much bodily context, but perhaps it's the anticipation of what's beneath the silk that makes Regina lick her lips in anticipation.

"Like what you see?" Emma challenges, eyebrow up.

"Oh my dear, that's never been the problem between us," Regina lobs back.

"No, I suppose not. All right, Madame Mayor, the ball is in your court now. I'm willing to see what this thing is between us. Question is, are you?"

"You're asking me to feel things I haven't allowed myself to feel in many many years," Regina states, her dark eyes lifting up to meet Emma's green ones. The younger woman is smiling slightly, but Regina finds it reassuring to see just a hint of doubt swimming beneath the surface.

There should be doubt in all of this. It's utter madness, and yet it's a bit like trying to swim upstream. Resisting it feels foolish and cruel. It feels lonely.

She's sick of being lonely.

"That's kind of where this whole thing started," Emma nods. "With you being willing to take a chance on your feelings. All I'm asking is for you to do it again."

"You're asking me to walk through glass again?"

"More metaphorically this time. For what it's worth, though, it wasn't any easier for me to do so than it was for you."

"No, I guess not." Regina sighs then. "All right then. But when this goes bad – and it will go bad, Emma – don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll take my chances," Emma whispers, and then, leaning forward, she presses a soft kiss onto Regina's lips. It's gentle and unassuming. Strong muscular arms come up to wrap around the former mayors' body then, pulling the older woman closer, offering refuge and peace.

Offering the chance to love again.

Regina closes her eyes and falls into it.

* * *

It's a bit funny to the both of them that the only thing these two bull-headed women fail to argue about is just how much they both want to move this – whatever this is – back to the bedroom.

They abandon the breakfast dishes on the table, and still wrapped in each other's arms, they make their way up the stairs and back into the master bedroom. It's a struggle, of course, but only because trying to walk and kiss at the same time is never something that goes smoothly or without complication.

Still, it's the moment that they're actually standing a few feet away from each other, in the blacked out room, that everything slows down and stops.

"Are you sure about this?" Regina asks softly, and to Emma, it seems so very wrong for this beautiful woman to be so tentative about something like sex. That she is, is partly because it's been so very long since any kind of sexual activity actually meant something beyond a physical release. With Daniel, there'd been touches and caresses and the deep longing kisses of innocence and passion unfulfilled. They'd never gone beyond that, never consummated their love.

She'd lost her virginity to Leopold on their wedding night, and even the thought of that sends a violent shudder through her body. She can still vividly remember the excruciating pain of that first night with him. She can still clearly recall the feeling of tears on her cheek as he'd loomed above her, his moans echoing in her ears.

Since then, as she'd told Emma, there'd been more than a few lovers to have warmed her bed. As the Queen, she hadn't been shy about looking for the comfort of a few hours of physical release. It'd never been emotional, though. She'd taken what she'd needed, and sent the men or women away afterwards.

She'd viewed her many lovers as Leopold had viewed her: as a means to an end – as a way to achieve sexual release and nothing more.

Now, looking into the lust blown green eyes of Emma Swan, she actually finds herself a bit frightened. A bit shaken. Because this means something.

"I'm sure," Emma tells her. Then, tilting her head, which causes waves of blonde to cascade over her shoulders. "Are you?"

The blonde watches Regina for a reaction, studying the former mayor's facial expressions. There's a kind of fear, she sees there. A lurking painful uncertainty.

And in that moment, Emma gets it. Putting together the pieces of what she knows of Regina's life, she finally understands; Regina's never actually felt the embrace of a lover. She may have called them such for the sake of simplicity, but in truth, they'd been little more than privileged bedmates. They'd been actors playing a physical part, their bodies dancing out a lust-filled step as old as time.

The vulnerability Emma sees in Regina's face as she tries to answer the blonde's echoed question is utterly heartbreaking. It's like she's desperately trying to find the words to explain what she's feeling, but she doesn't know how to say them without showing weakness. Without becoming weak.

So Emma does what she does best; she saves the former queen again.

"Let me make love to you," the blonde whispers, stepping forward to place a hand on either side of Regina's face. She smiles a bit at the soft moan she hears, allows it to grow when Regina tips her cheek towards one of the warm palms.

"I'm not weak," Regina breathes, and it's said more to herself than Emma.

"No, you're not," Emma answers anyway, and then leans forward and crushes her mouth against Regina's, deciding that the time for words has come to an end.

* * *

It's the softness of a kiss – and then a gentle bite – on the thumb of her right hand that brings Emma back to the waking world. It takes her a few seconds to realize that she's lying in Regina's bed, in Regina's arms.

Post coital.

Which was…yeah, wow. The images blitz her mind, and for a moment, Emma can barely breathe through the memories of the last few hours.

"Hey," she finally whispers, turning herself so that she can look into the dark eyes of her lover. Regina is smiling slightly, almost lazily. Her brown hair is badly mussed, and she looks a bit on the crazed side. Emma thinks that she's never looked more beautiful than she does in this moment, looking recklessly imperfect.

"Good afternoon," Regina purrs before dipping her head down to pepper several warm wet kisses against the smooth exposed column of the sheriff's neck.

"Really?" Emma laughs as a hand slips around to the front of her and lightly cups one of her bare breasts, fingers coming up to tweak an already hardened nipple.

"I never was good at moderation," the brunette answers with a wry smile, her touch becoming firmer and more insistent even as she grazes teeth over Emma's pulse point, grinning when she hears the blonde whimper in response.

"So I see." The words are followed up by another loud whimper as Regina's fingernails scrape downwards, sliding between the blonde's thighs without pause or hesitation. A nail tickles teasingly over anxious nerves before returning to the relative safe haven of Emma's hipbone. "Regina," she gasps out.

"Are you too tired?" the brunette taunts, the smirk on her face growing. "Because if you are, I'm sure I can find a book to read. Maybe something about gardening."

"Gardening, right. You know, I might believe that if you weren't…oh Jesus…"

Regina makes a tsking noise, the smirk in full force now. "I may not believe in the gods of this world, Emma, but even I know that that was sacrilegious."

"Yeah, well I figure I'm already going to hell so why not make it a fun trip," the blonde grins before suddenly rolling and toppling the former mayor. She looks down from her straddling position, her legs wrapped around Regina's waist. "I could get used to this view," she offers, nodding her head in satisfaction. And why not? From here, she has a perfect glimpse of the mayor's astonishing body. Even made too thin by stress and lack of proper care, Regina is stunning.

"I wouldn't if I were you, dear," Regina chides. "I'm not a bottom."

"Neither am I," Emma answers as she leans down to press her mouth against the smooth olive skin of Regina's abdomen. She open mouth kisses the skin right above and below the brunette's belly button before slowly sliding upwards to claim the former mayor's lips in an almost chaste kiss.

It's Emma's way of trying to assure Regina that this isn't just about sex.

Sex is a great part of it, for sure, but this is about something deeper.

Of course, if Regina doesn't stop moving her hands up and down her like she's working the neck of a guitar, it could be a hard point to make.

She closes her eyes as she feels warm fingers slide into her. The movements start out slow and steady and yet somehow firm and determined. She finds herself barely able to breathe, hardly capable of coherent thought.

"Please," she whispers. "Please."

That's all it takes. Suddenly, the touches become more urgent. Suddenly, the speed of the thrusts increases, growing almost frantic in their intensity. As they do, she feels her hands digging into the soft flesh of the woman beneath her.

She whispers her lover's name.

Again and again and again until she loses the ability to speak behind a wall of bright light and explosive nerves. With an indelicate sigh, she finally collapses forward, her head resting against Regina's warm chest, the sound of a heartbeat echoing through her ears. It's the most beautiful sound that she's ever heard.

"Watching you like this, it's like a drug to me," she hears Regina whisper into her hair. "And I'm not good with addictions." It's a confession, an urgent plea for help.

"Not all addictions are bad," Emma manages, eyes still closed. She's not entirely sure she has the strength to even sit up right now.

"They've always been bad for me."

Emma finally looks up, locks eyes with the brunette. She's startled to see the worry there, pain lurking beneath chocolate depths. Fear, even.

"I won't hurt you," she promises.

"But I can't promise I won't hurt you. It's what I've always done."

"I trust you," Emma says simply, finger dipping to outline a cheekbone.

"You're a fool." There's no malice in the words, just sadness.

"Probably, but I'm here anyway. And unless you make me, I'm not going anywhere. It's your choice if we see where this goes beyond today."

"My choice," the brunette repeats, reflecting for a moment on the many times in her life when it wasn't her choice. The many terrible times when her life was decided for her. Almost always to her detriment.

"So, what's it going to be, Madame Mayor? Will you let me stay in bed with you or do we walk away from this?"

"Well, I would never kick you out of my bed," Regina teases, a hand reaching up to lightly trace over warm pale flesh. She trails a fingernail across a breast, smiling when she sees the way the blonde woman atop her shudders.

"Not really an answer," Emma notes once she's regained control.

"I know. I just…"

"I'll make it simple, Regina. Whatever you choose is okay. No bad feelings between us. We parent Henry together and we work together."

"So then the choice is just about us."

"Right. Do you want me to stay or do you want me to leave?"

There's a moment of pause, a moment of thought as all of her ugly history washes over her. And then she hears Daniel once more.

Then love again.

"Stay. I want you to stay."

Emma exhales a cool breath of air. A smile spreading across her tired features, she leans down and presses a kiss to Regina's lips. "Good," she answers. "Because I'm pretty warm right here and would have hated to have to get up."

"I see how it is."

"Mm hmm. I need sleep."

"There will be time for sleep later."

"There will be time for this later, too," Emma assures her, reaching out her hand to take Regina's and squeeze it. It's a bit weird to realize that she's the more romantic of the pair, the more grounded one.

Regina slowly nods her head. "Fine. I'll let you regain your energy." Emma just smiles in response. She knows that this is Regina's way of saving face, of not letting the moment get too gentle and soft.

Some things take time, some walls take patience to bring down.

For once, though, Emma doesn't pull back from the responsibility.

For once, she doesn't run from the challenge.

"Why, thank you," Emma husks before spinning around to pull Regina into her arms. After a brief moment of hesitation, she feels the brunette relax against her.

It's a few minutes later, right as she's just about to drop back off into the world of sleep that she hears Regina's voice again, the soft rumble of it echoing through her body deliciously. "I do have one question," the woman asks.

"Mm."

"Why the blindfold?"

"Huh?"

"In the first dream that you came to me in. You blindfolded me before you molested me. Why?"

Emma opens her mouth and then snaps it shuts.

"I see," Regina nods. "I expect that there will be time for that later as well, yes?"

"Whatever you'd like, Your Majesty."

The former queen smiles at this, then shifts her body and slides herself even further against the warmth – and yes, love - that Emma is offering her.

It isn't until she glances over into the mirror – the one that had started all of this - that she realizes that what she's seeing now, what's occurring at this very moment, is exactly what she'd seen foretold in her dreams.

She's lying in Emma's arms.

Happy. Secure. Peaceful.

Loved.

She closes her eyes and allows the feelings to wash over her.

It feels like victory.

And for once, victory feels good.

**-Fin**


End file.
